Theater Theatrics: Thresholds, Thunder, and Threats

Warning: The following story contains strong language – because I meant every damn word.

You ever walk into a movie theater with the purest of intentions — popcorn in hand, back row seat, ready to escape into another world — and then reality taps you on the shoulder and says, “Not tonight, buddy.”

Last night, I went to see Fantastic Four. I was in that perfect movie mood. Lights low, big screen ahead, the promise of action and fun. But as always, there’s that one person (or in this case, two) who decides certain rules don’t apply to them.

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The Glow Beneath Me

As I said before, I was in the back row. Directly in front of me sat a large family — at least eight seats wide. And directly beneath me? A woman and her husband… both on their phones, 20 minutes into the movie.

Now, I’m not talking about a quick glance to check the time. I’m talking full solar flare mode. The woman’s phone was set to the brightest brightness possible, the kind you’d use to find your lost dog in the woods at midnight. Her husband was on his phone as well, but with about 75% luminance. Between the two, I was getting uncomfortable, but hers was the killer.

And every so often, for reasons known only to her, she’d raise that phone up to face level — not down by her lap where it might be discreet — but high enough to beam me right in the face like she was calling for rescue.

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The Warning They Ignored

Before the movie started, the Marcus theater owner himself came on screen with the standard PSA: “Please turn off your cell phones and be respectful of others.”

Simple. Clear. Easy to follow.

Well into the movie, they’re on their phones.
Five minutes later? They’re still on.

Okay, I can be patient. I’m sure they’ll be off soon.

Ten minutes later? “The stars at niiiiiight, are just as briiiiiiiight.”

Don’t ruin the night, Kenny. You’re here to enjoy yourself.

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The Breaking Point

Fifteen minutes into my own personal light show, having had enough, I lean forward to see what’s so important. Surely she’s keeping up with some critical news, maybe work emails, or even a family emergency…

Nope.
She’s…
Playing…
A Video Game.

Oh, HELLLLL no.

If you don’t want to watch the movie, fine. If this is just a night out for the kids, fine. But at least dim your phone or hold it lower so your head blocks the glare.

So, I leaned forward and said, “Ma’am, excuse me. Would you mind turning your phone down or off? It’s very distracting to me.”

She glanced back, not far enough to meet my eyes, just enough to face her husband. She fired back flatly, “It ain’t that bright.”

Then turned right back around! She and her husband shot a few knowing glances back between them. Looking everywhere but where they needed to be looking…

…like the leash snapping off of a pit bull’s neck.

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The Line She Crossed

At that point, she wasn’t just wrong — she was disrespectful. And I don’t do disrespect well. Dismissing my request with flippancy? Not today, woman (and your man).

That’s when Kind Kenny left the ring and tagged in, well, you know his counterpart…

Do you remember the scene in Die Hard 3 when Samuel E. Jackson’s character Zeus yelled for the man to get off the pay phone so he could call the villain Simon back before time expired?

Yeah, that version of me.

I leaned forward again, louder, enough for most of the theater to hear:

“Both of you turn off your goddamn phones, or I swear to God, I will make this experience a nightmare for your entire fucking family!”

Phones went dark instantly.

And here’s the kicker — I didn’t just shut them down. Every phone in the theater that was on got turned off immediately. It was like a chain reaction of shame. Every head in the theater turned gingerly around, looking back to see who it was that basically told everybody to get out of the pool.

The family? Visibly shaken, knowing full well that the order was handed down to their parents, particularly their mother.

Part of me waited for Dad to get up and show me how he felt about me talking to him and his wife that way. Mostly his wife.

Part of me wanted him to.

He didn’t. They both slunk partially into their seats. Clearly not wanting any of the smoke emanating from the back row.

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The Exit

About fifteen minutes later, they whispered to each other, gathered the kids, and left the theater, much to the chagrin of their children. I half expected management to come in and investigate the matter, but then realized that if they were going to complain, it would have been one or two of them, not the entire Brady Bunch.

They never returned.

Maybe they thought about complaining to management, but I’m guessing they decided it wasn’t worth it — not with me sitting in the back row, still in a mood.

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The Aftermath

When the lights came up after the credits, people were glancing at me on their way out. Nods. Smiles. One guy pointed at me like, You handled your business. Another actually said, “That’s what I’m talking ’bout, bruh.”

Did it make for the most peaceful movie night? No.
Do I regret it? Not a chance.

Sometimes, you have to be the person who says what everyone else is thinking.

Especially when everybody ain’t me.

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