A joke went around the newsroom the other day: When will somebody get the bright idea to take all these streaming services--Disney+, Netflix, etc.--package them all neatly together, sell them as one, and call it "cable"?
The owner of a movie theater might get nervous when he thinks about the man sitting on his couch watching movies, night after night, on his iPad. Or the teen who can watch the same thing on her phone. But then, we also remember those who announced The Death of Theaters when this newfangled "cablevision" came to neighborhoods back in the early 1980s.
Those who keep up with the movie business are wary, and deservedly so. Last year wasn't a record-breaker. Even with massive Star Wars and Marvel flicks, ticket sales in 2019 couldn't keep up with the year before. Should we write another opinion piece about The Death of Theaters, or just use the one we keep in type?
Then, we remember the last time we saw Christmas Vacation. Which was about a month ago, in the Ron Robinson Theater in Little Rock. That silly little movie first opened in 1989, and we must've seen pieces of it a dozen times. Yet there we were, in Christmas season, going out at night once again, to take the kids to a movie readily available on any number of cable stations throughout the holidays. You have to wonder: Why?
Why, indeed. Maybe because it was the Ron Robinson Theater, not to be confused with the giant Robinson Performance Hall a few blocks away. The theater was packed that night, and often is. Because going to watch a movie at the Ron Robinson Theater is a treat. It's an event. It's a thing. You put on a tie, or a dress, and you call it a date. Even the kids dress up, if only a bit. Those of us who are disappointed that few people get dressed up to get on an airplane these days can still delight at going out for an evening on the town. To the theater!
Why do people go to the state fair? For those of us who couldn't be poked onto a ride with a sharp stick, what's the attraction? We can make bad food at home, and see livestock down the road. But most humans, at least the lucky ones, have a need to be social. To be out. To be among. To experience life with others.
And there's a lot said for getting out of the house. Maybe the poet Edgar Guest put it best:
It takes a heap o' livin' in a house
t' make it home,
A heap o' sun an' shadder,
an' ye sometimes have t' roam
Afore ye really 'preciate the things
ye lef' behind,
An' hunger fer 'em somehow,
with 'em allus on yer mind.
Yep, and the phone will ring. The dogs will bark. And the neighbor will need to borrow a cup of sugar. There's a heap o' livin' going on in your house. Something's allus on yer mind. Nobody's going to tell you, or the kids, to turn off your cell phones. And pay attention. This is the good part of the movie!
And then there's a movie theater's big screen, which is bigger than yours. And the sound system, which is louder than yours. And the popcorn, which has more butter than your spouse would allow you to put on it, if you were at home.
In 1930, most Americans--more than 65 percent of them!--went to the movies every week.
Every. Single. Week.
Today, there's more to do. And more ways to access Hollywood.
But for some of us, the movie theater will still be a place for dates--firsts or lasts. And a place to share the experience. And a place to meet. And a place to focus on the story. They spent millions making this thing, and you spent dozens for the tickets and drinks. Might as well enjoy it without the dogs barking.
Quiet your cell phones. Finally.
Editorial on 01/17/2020