Recently, for the first time, I watched a movie in a theater that offered "luxury seating." For an additional $2.50 per ticket, you can pick your seat in the reserved section of the back few rows, enjoying extra leg room and lush leather seats. I didn't select this option (few people at this particular Saturday afternoon showing of Super 8 did), and the whole enterprise made me feel strange and a little gross.
Normally, the back rows of a theater are not my preferred spot. Yet having them off limits, with a velvet cord and an usher/security guard restricting access to an all-but-empty section of the theater, seemed divisive and wrong.
"Yes, we could have bought ridiculously comfortable seats for the entire multiplex and still made money, since we charge $9.75 for an evening show, and $12.25 for 3D. But if you want to ensure the best chance of not sitting right next to a sweaty guy eating $12 worth of popcorn and behind a bunch of kids under ten years old, we're going to have to charge you extra for it."
Maybe I'm too sensitive. Maybe the fact that anyone flush enough to pay the extra $2.50 is in a position to literally look down on those who can't or won't makes it seem worse than it is. But I felt like I was watching a movie on the fucking Titanic. If the theater burns down, does their extra cash get them VIP access to the fire exits?
The feeling faded as the lights went down and the movie began; once again I was just a person in a big dark room with a bunch of other people, watching the same thing at the same time. I think that's what I found most disconcerting: the extra shot of capitalism threatened to take that feeling away, and almost made going to the movies feel like another skirmish in this country's undeclared class war. Before, the Mercedes next to you in the parking lot could belong to anybody in the theater; you all bought the same ticket. If Daddy Warbucks got there late, he got the front row or the extreme wing.
No more. Now, the movie theater's become another place where those with more than you get to demonstrate that fact. A place where people go to be near each other, instead of with each other. An opportunity to emphasize what separates us rather than what unites us.
Or at least that's how it felt for a few minutes while eating Sour Patch kids and waiting for the trailers to start. It's not that big of a deal in the scheme of things, and relentless commodification doesn't surprise me. But the final straw, and the ultimate reason I don't plan on returning to the theater, is this: the regular, non-"luxury" seats aren't equipped with moving armrests, a feature that's basically become standard at any cinema built within the last ten years. Taking something away, calling it "luxury," and charging extra for it isn't progress, assholes. Poor people like to cuddle, too, you know?
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