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This was in my inbox the other day via the NYT emailed daily overview.
One author's experience of people cracking up during morbid scenes/subjects, and other musings on audience behavior.
Dark_Comedy.png
Screenshot did not zoom as well as I hoped it might, also I don't have access to the cited article if anyone wants to share that.
One author's experience of people cracking up during morbid scenes/subjects, and other musings on audience behavior.
Dark_Comedy.png
Screenshot did not zoom as well as I hoped it might, also I don't have access to the cited article if anyone wants to share that.
Good morning. Movie audiences are cracking up during serious scenes. What’s a theatergoer to do?
Dark comedy
There used to be a multiplex near my house that we called the “Babysitter 12” because it felt like, no matter the film on view, the theater was always full of people laughing, screaming, horsing around. I stopped going there after a while because while it was fun to be part of a boisterous crowd during, say, a Marvel movie, the constant din during more serious films grew distracting. The Babysitter 12 closed during the pandemic, when people’s living rooms became their theaters.
My colleague Marie Solis recently wrote a story for The Times about a “laugh epidemic” in movie theaters. People are chuckling aloud during violent, sexy and scary scenes in movies like “Anora,” “Babygirl” and “Nosferatu.” For some moviegoers, this behavior is appalling, disconsonant with what they think the appropriate response should be.
Marie puts forward some theories as to why some people are laughing at moments that others think require more gravity. Perhaps we became accustomed to watching movies at home and forgot our theater etiquette. There’s been such genre collapse in movies that it can be hard to tell what’s meant to be funny and what’s not — is “Babygirl” an erotic thriller or an erotic comedy? Maybe we’re uncomfortable with a scene so we laugh nervously, or we laugh to show we get a reference.
I saw a fairly serious movie about a violent relationship in the theater last summer and was surprised at how much laughter there was during tense scenes. I had the sense that groups of friends who’d been laughing and joking before the lights went down were having a hard time switching gears, that their laughter was almost like a glitch in their software as they went from the delight of a high-spirited night out to the sober nature of what they were watching onscreen.
I remembered the experience of the Babysitter 12, how part of the reason I stopped going was because I didn’t like myself when I felt that others were misbehaving. My inclination was to be the busybody who shushes strangers who are just having a good time. I like the rules of the Alamo Drafthouse theaters, where they declare that anyone who uses a cellphone or talks during the film will be expelled. (I have never seen this happen and imagine that the threat of such a sanction is enough to scare potential rowdy patrons straight.)
The point of going to the movies, though, is other people, as intrusive and perplexing as they might be. The reactions of other moviegoers to the movie is part of moviegoing. Yes, there are shows now designed to be streamed alone, at home, on a small screen. But when I’m at the theater, I want to be generous, to take in the fullness of the audience, the community. I want to let it all in, to subscribe to the view that one person Marie talked to put forth: that experiencing emotions not just about the film you’re watching, but also about your fellow audience members, is “what makes film-going really exciting.” You can’t get that in your living room.
Dark comedy
There used to be a multiplex near my house that we called the “Babysitter 12” because it felt like, no matter the film on view, the theater was always full of people laughing, screaming, horsing around. I stopped going there after a while because while it was fun to be part of a boisterous crowd during, say, a Marvel movie, the constant din during more serious films grew distracting. The Babysitter 12 closed during the pandemic, when people’s living rooms became their theaters.
My colleague Marie Solis recently wrote a story for The Times about a “laugh epidemic” in movie theaters. People are chuckling aloud during violent, sexy and scary scenes in movies like “Anora,” “Babygirl” and “Nosferatu.” For some moviegoers, this behavior is appalling, disconsonant with what they think the appropriate response should be.
Marie puts forward some theories as to why some people are laughing at moments that others think require more gravity. Perhaps we became accustomed to watching movies at home and forgot our theater etiquette. There’s been such genre collapse in movies that it can be hard to tell what’s meant to be funny and what’s not — is “Babygirl” an erotic thriller or an erotic comedy? Maybe we’re uncomfortable with a scene so we laugh nervously, or we laugh to show we get a reference.
I saw a fairly serious movie about a violent relationship in the theater last summer and was surprised at how much laughter there was during tense scenes. I had the sense that groups of friends who’d been laughing and joking before the lights went down were having a hard time switching gears, that their laughter was almost like a glitch in their software as they went from the delight of a high-spirited night out to the sober nature of what they were watching onscreen.
I remembered the experience of the Babysitter 12, how part of the reason I stopped going was because I didn’t like myself when I felt that others were misbehaving. My inclination was to be the busybody who shushes strangers who are just having a good time. I like the rules of the Alamo Drafthouse theaters, where they declare that anyone who uses a cellphone or talks during the film will be expelled. (I have never seen this happen and imagine that the threat of such a sanction is enough to scare potential rowdy patrons straight.)
The point of going to the movies, though, is other people, as intrusive and perplexing as they might be. The reactions of other moviegoers to the movie is part of moviegoing. Yes, there are shows now designed to be streamed alone, at home, on a small screen. But when I’m at the theater, I want to be generous, to take in the fullness of the audience, the community. I want to let it all in, to subscribe to the view that one person Marie talked to put forth: that experiencing emotions not just about the film you’re watching, but also about your fellow audience members, is “what makes film-going really exciting.” You can’t get that in your living room.