Shut the Hell Up

Or, Why Lousy Theater Etiquette is My Biggest Pet Peeve.
By R. Kurt Osenlund

Odds are you caught wind of a story back in June about a woman in Austin, Tex. who was kicked out the city's Alamo Drafthouse movie theater for texting. Using her phone as a flashlight, then incessantly sending messages well after the film began, the woman (whom we'll just call Buttons) ignored repeated warnings to stop before finally getting the boot. Her retaliation is what made national headlines, even popping up on “The Ridiculist,” a segment on CNN's Anderson Cooper 360 bemoaning asinine behavior. Buttons left a voicemail on the Alamo Drafthouse answering machine that was rife with curses, third-grade English and adamant defenses of her actions. Some choice excerpts:

“I didn't know that I wasn't supposed to text in your little crappy-ass theater...So excuse me for using MY phone in USA, Magnited States of America, where you are free to text in a the-a-ter...I've texted in all the other theaters in Austin, and no one ever gave a f—k about what I was doin' on my f—kin' phone...You guys, obviously, were being assh—s to me, and I'm sure that's what you do, you know, to rip people off: you take my money and then you throw me out...I will never be comin' back to your Alamo Drafthouse, or whatever; I'd rather go to a reglear theater where people are actually polite...And I'm gonna tell everyone about how sh—y you are...So thanks for making me feel like a customer...Thanks for taking my money, assh—e!”

Sadly, Buttons is no anomaly, and to be perfectly frank, if you're anything like her, you and I can't be friends. As someone who spends an average of six hours per week inside crowded theaters, and who attends out of passion but, very realistically, to make a living as well, I'm all too familiar with the sting felt by those who had to show Buttons the door, and I wholeheartedly join Cooper in hailing them as American heroes for doing it. There's no excuse for lousy theater etiquette, and the fact is, if you insist on talking above the occasional whisper, offering play-by-play commentary on the film or performance, bringing your screaming kids into the theater, laughing excessively like a goon, gossiping about bullshit that has nothing to do with the show, unloading a noisy smorgasbord of outside food, or, indeed, dicking around with your electronic device, then there is something seriously, fundamentally wrong with your manners, your social skills, your personal pride and, certainly, your intelligence level.

I've been attending advance press screenings and theater events in Philadelphia for the past four years. And, oh, do I have stories. The way it works with most of these events is, members of the press are invited alongside members of the public, who get free, first-come-first-serve passes via web sites, promotions and giveaways (they used to hand them out at my college). Many of these guests kindly appreciate the privilege, while others grossly abuse it as if they just waltzed into a frat party, a daycare center or a school cafeteria. At film screenings in particular, there are regulars who cart in plastic shopping bags loaded with goodies and god-knows-what. I've seen some people settle down with foot-long hoagies and cheesesteaks, the aroma of onions and marinara wafting through the entire space. There are countless others who have no concept or concern of plastic-wrapper noise levels, crinkling their Twizzler bags like they're the only souls in the building. A colleague of mine once asked a woman behind him to keep it down with the candy, and she proceeded to spend the next 15-odd minutes loudly rummaging through her wrappers out of spite – right up against his ear. She was eventually removed.

In my experience, the sense of selfish, it's-a-free-country entitlement among theater- and film-goers is disgusting. Aside from the fact that our gluttonous society has convinced them that they need entire meals to make it through a measly two-hour presentation (popcorn is fine; cheesesteaks are not), there's a dishearteningly rampant assumption that rudeness is within their rights wherever they go. I can't tell you how many times I've been told “No,” or “shut up,” or “f—k off” after asking folks to be quiet. One of the absolute worst noise disturbances I've ever encountered was during a showing of The Last Airbender, the M. Night Shyamalan one about little kids with magic powers. It was the worst movie of 2010 by a mile, but it still couldn't best what was happening off screen: a woman decided to bring along her infant, who was so pitifully irate about being there that his wails were deafening (naturally, they were sitting right behind me). People began to rapidly lose patience: “Get out!” “Have some respect!” But no dice. The woman stayed put, as god forbid she miss her chance to see a reviled egotist's take on a Saturday morning cartoon. The crying got progressively worse, and as my guest pointed out, the key question became whether or not someone should call child services. After what seemed like years, suited men came in to escort her out, and as she left her seat, baby in arm, every other word out of her mouth was “f—k.” The crowd went wild.

Other offenders might not be as shocking, but they can surely be just as grating. One of my favorites to bitch about is the Jabbering Commentator, an ignorant ball of insecurities who's usually a nerdy young male or a middle-aged woman. Terribly uncomfortable with silence, and thoroughly convinced that they must prove their worth by sharing constant, needless insights with their friends, these are the people who broadcast unwanted tidbits about each actor's filmography, who try to outwit and out-joke the script, who offer their opinions as the show unfolds, and who rustle up anecdotes because, like the cheesesteak guy, they simply can't wait until the lights come up. Where's a taser when you need it? Who raised these people? Even worse than the Pavlovian Gigglers (infernal, inappropriate laughter in theaters is its own essay topic), Jabbering Commentators are incredibly transparent, attempting to cope with their character defects at the expense of poor bystanders like me. Nobody cares how much you know about Daniel Craig, not even your friends. Nobody cares if you have a better punchline than Adam Sandler (chances are we all do). Nobody cares about how this precious scene with Abigail Breslin makes you feel, or if it reminds you of something you did with your niece last weekend. Put a sock in it.

This whole issue begs the question of why all these people are even in the audience in the first place. Why bother to come if the last thing you care about is the film or performance? I once attended a concert at the Mann Center where Wicked star Idina Menzel performed with a symphony orchestra. It was a pretty breathtaking show, and the seats were packed with classical buffs and theater geeks. Also present was a girl who opted to bring her dinner and her homework. After she polished off a salad and a basket of fries, she whipped out a hardback novel, attached a booklight to it, and began reading. You read right. I don't know what stopped her from booking a front-row seat, so she could easily reach out her arm and give Idina a smack on the face. It's the same with people who insist they've arrived for social hour. Somewhere along the line, theaters became mistaken for lively public activity spaces – dark rooms full of people where any chatty, half-witted Joe Schmo could simply pop in to pass his Thursday night hours. Joe forgets: there are bars for that.

Which brings us back to the Alamo Drafthouse, a place that admittedly serves beer to its customers, thus creating a looser atmosphere and somewhat inviting a little theater malfeasance. It's a mixed-message situation, to be sure, and I can't say I condone it. But isn't it a shame that a venue can't introduce a fun novelty without suffering the consequences? I'm not a total fuddy-duddy, I swear. I understand and value the fact that theater-going is a communal experience, with shared reactions and collective feelings. But, more often than not, instead of folks who can handle it, we get people like Buttons, who haven't a care in the world for anyone in the the-a-ter except themselves. Well, guess what, Missy: this is the Magnited States of America, and I actually do have the right to watch a movie in peace and quiet. You turning up with your cellphone and your offensive lack of education is like unloading a dumptruck in the middle of my workplace. I don't unload dumptrucks at your workplace, and I don't push your buttons, Buttons. So keep your dirty fingers off mine.
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Postscript: The Alamo Drafthouse has since parlayed the Buttons incident into a PSA that's now played before every screening. Here it is:



*This article previously appeared in the September 2011 issue of ICON Magazine. It has been republished with permission.

QFest Preview 2011

The 17th Philadelphia QFest (nee the Philadelphia International Gay and Lesbian Film Festival) is now underway, its selection of work from 80-plus filmmakers and actors stretching through July 18. The lineup is, as always, a very eclectic mix.

My QFest Preview is now online at SouthPhillyReview.com. CLICK HERE to read it!


And for further reading, have a look at my QFest coverage from 2010 and 2008.

Tom McCarthy Interview

This article was published in the April 2011 issue of ICON magazine. It has been republished with permission.

The People's Champ
With his new sports-tinged dramedy Win Win, Jersey-born writer-director Tom McCarthy continues to exhibit his trademark instincts for reading people and telling human stories, bruises and all.

By R. Kurt Osenlund

IN HIS OWN WAY, actor-turned-filmmaker Tom McCarthy is America’s answer to Mike Leigh. Though more structured, safe and genteel than Britain’s kitchen-sink master, McCarthy possesses Leigh’s same extraordinary empathy for his characters, and for humankind in general. With great intuition and compassion, the writer/director consistently lays down predominantly neutral turf, upon which his players unfurl their isms, inadequacies, flaws, virtues and hard-won joys. He loves his characters and delights in all their blemishes and bright spots, and in turn, his adoration is felt and shared by the audience. Such is but one of the reasons why the title of McCarthy’s new film, Win Win, is so perfectly apt. The movie concerns the victory-conscious worlds of sports and law, and deals in both opportunism and symbiotic relationships, but its title chiefly reminds us of what’s been true of all of McCarthy’s work: when there’s this much care and understanding put into the story and the people within it, nobody loses.

As he did with his first two features, The Station Agent (2003) and The Visitor (2008), McCarthy populates Win Win with inherently decent people who are prone to losing their ways, but have unexpectedly strong capacities for kindness. In their ups and downs, no one ever goes so far as to step out of character, nor does anyone’s actions or feelings ever bleed into sentimentality. McCarthy is far too gifted a screenwriter for any of that. The way he shapes his people is presumably the way he regards all people: optimistically, yet realistically; knowingly, yet curiously.


Peter Dinklage, Patricia Clarkson and Bobby Cannavale in The Station Agent


“I like to travel a lot,” McCarthy says during a recent Philadelphia press tour for Win Win. “I started doing it at a very early age. I love meeting different people and I love taking things away from those meetings. I just remember so many things. There’s something about that experience of bumping into people randomly, in other cultures or communities, that I’ve always found fascinating.”

McCarthy may have modeled Peter Dinklage’s Fin McBride (The Station Agent) after a little person he encountered at a train platform, or based Richard Jenkins’s Walter Vale (The Visitor) on a professor he had in college, but he didn’t need to venture far to gather inspiration for his newest characters. Set in the all-too-familiar suburbs of New Jersey (McCarthy grew up in New Providence), Win Win stars Paul Giamatti
as Mike Flaherty, a husband, father and small business owner whom McCarthy’s no doubt met 100 times. A small-time attorney whose practice is struggling, Mike is having anxiety attacks. He coaches high school wrestling on the side, which allows him to vent his anger and feed a passion of his youth. His wife, Jackie (Amy Ryan), is a wonderfully maternal, Bon Jovi-loving Jersey girl, but also a judgmental conclusion-jumper. His best friend, Terry (Bobby Cannavale), is loyal and successful, but brazenly off-color when it comes to his ex-wife. And Mike himself just wants to do right by his family, but takes advantage of an elderly client as the clouds roll in on his good judgment.


Alex Schaffer and Paul Giamatti in Win Win


“Being from a suburb, you get to a certain age and you look back and you’re like, ‘they weren’t all perfect people,’” McCarthy says of the flawed folks who’ve inevitably informed his writing, “but I’m also at an age where I can look back and see the beauty in it all.” He throws in an irresistible anecdote about how he’s on New Providence High School’s Wall of Fame alongside Enron CFO Andrew Fastow, a guy he grew up
with. “The joke is that the plaque reads, ‘Andrew has been written about in The Wall Street Journal,’” he says, unable to avoid a laugh. “But seriously, I know that family—it’s a very good family. They’re really nice people, good parents—I used to go to their house to hang out. There were just some bad choices made. I can’t think back and say ‘Oh, that’s right, [Andrew] was an asshole,’ because I don’t feel that way about him. He’s just a pretty decent guy who got off base and made some bad decisions.”

Unless he’s just putting his game face on for a room full of journalists, McCarthy, 44, is surprisingly guy’s-guy-ish for someone so adept at crafting such sensitive tales of frailty and morality. Clad in jeans and a sport coat, he’s loose and casual. He gets amped up about the athletic content of his film, and he lets a whole lot of curses slip. But he’s also expectedly contemplative when discussing his process, which he says, isn’t “over-intellectualized,” but is certainly very involved, impassioned and consuming. He says his story development remains rather fluid right on through the editing and post-production discussion stages, but it begins with jotting things down in a notebook, which he carries with him everywhere he goes. For Win Win, he frequented high school wrestling matches with his co-writer and longtime friend, Joe Tiboni, scribbling
details and inspirations onto paper.


McCarthy on the set of Win Win


That kind of preparation aided in the molding of characters like Kyle, the film’s star attraction and star wrestler played by first-timer Alex Shaffer, a Hunterdon County, New Jersey teen and bona fide, nationally ranked wrestling champion. In the movie, Kyle first crosses paths with Mike in a very Tom-McCarthyan, fortuitous-yet-uncontrived sort of way, sitting in front of the home that belongs to his grandfather, the same elderly gentleman Mike is manipulating. Kyle joins Mike’s wrestling team, is welcomed into the arms of Mike’s family (he’s estranged from his addict mother, played by Melanie Lynskey) and, of course, complicates the story’s frayed moral fabric.

McCarthy chose wrestling as a plot element not just for its rarity at the movies, not just for its allegorical support of Mike’s own personal struggle, but because he, too, wrestled in high school. He wasn’t a phenom like Kyle or Alex Shaffer, but he had an affinity for the sport, and still does. It’s one more reason Win Win is his most personal effort yet.

“I didn’t realize it was my most personal film until I finished it,” he says, “I’ve written about a place where I grew up and about people I know inside and out. I felt so close to some of these people and felt like I understood them in a way that was so immediate to me. I even developed it with a lifelong friend—that process alone was very personal.”

And, yet, the movie is also McCarthy’s most accessible, an attribute that doesn’t often mesh well with personal in regard to film. The comedy is broader, the structure more traditional, the appeal more mainstream. It’s the kind of sports movie people love, where the sport in question is lowest on the list of what it’s about. So, what makes Win Win still true to McCarthy’s oeuvre and worthy of the arthouse? McCarthy has a marvelous knack for repurposing tropes to serve his unique perspective. He’s aware of the reactions he’ll elicit, and he knows how to please a crowd, but rarely does he ever sacrifice grace, tact, wit or cleverness. He’s a pro at gifting his characters with endearing idiosyncracies, not trendy, flash-in-the-pan quirks. He achieves a uniform naturalism, but laces it with heightened irony, and finds great running gags in such things as an impressionable young girl dying to know the meanings of adult words. His humor is handled as gently as his post-recession commentary. Even in the way he forms his script, he breaks rules while following them. He places multiple guns on the mantle (a tree ready to topple, a boiler ready to blow), but never do you see them go off.


McCarthy and Paul Giamatti


Much of McCarthy’s considerable skill comes back to his understanding of, and interest in, people. He’s a filmmaker with an uncommon aptitude for interpreting, respecting, processing and conveying the human condition. Perhaps his work as an actor, getting inside the skin of his characters, has played a large part in this. He’s appeared in more than 30 films and TV shows, including Good Night, and Good Luck, Flags of Our Fathers, Duplicity and The Wire. Or perhaps it’s all that note taking, all that observation and people-watching, that’s made him so perceptive. He offers some more anecdotes about his trip to Philadelphia, and about the things he saw that wound up in his notebook.

Of his visit to the restaurant Fork, he says, "I walk in and all I can focus on is this guy—silver hair, straight back, amazing bright pinstripe suit, great shirt, eating by himself, probably 65 to 70. I’m like, ‘Okay, who’s that?’ I wanted to get a cup of coffee and just sit and watch him. He was such a great character. A lot of times, that’s where it starts for me.”

He continues, “Driving over here, we stopped in the car and I looked over and there’s this statue of a guy on one of your buildings [the John Wanamaker Statue]. I’m thinking, ‘Who is that? What if you were his widow and you pulled up and saw that? What would it mean to you? Would you flash back? Would you just keep going?’ Then it becomes, ‘I’m gonna write that down. I’m gonna write something cool about that.’”

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