Every PG-13 movie is allowed at least one “fuck,” or variation of the word “fuck.” About 30 minutes into The Twilight Saga: New Moon is where I decided the missing “fuck” should go.
It was Sunday, November 23, 2009. The Twilight Saga: New Moon had just come out that week. The weather was fair for a November afternoon. I was not looking forward to seeing another Twilight movie, but there are just some things you have to do when you’re married.
By the time the previews rolled the house was packed, which was unusual for this small town theater. And then it happened, of all the people in the theater I heard the voice of the one person I knew was going to be a problem for everyone. The voice came like the cry of a self-important midwestern housewife. The shadowy figure pointed to the people in the row behind us and cried out, “Y’all need to move down ‘cause I paid for my ticket too, goddamn it!” I looked at my wife and said, “Tensions are running high already,” to which my wife replied, “Fuck.” Then it got worse, much worse. I heard the lady and her daughter clamor their way down the row and sit directly behind us.
While we waited for the movie to start, they talked and rattled bags of candy. When the house lights came down and the movie began they continued to talk and rattle bags of candy. There I was, stuck for over two hours with a crappy movie in front of me and two of the most self-important candy-chomping ignorant wind-bags that have ever stumbled their dumb asses into a movie theater, behind me.
Their nonstop conversation began by discussing the phases of the moon and how it applied to vampires and werewolves. It then moved on to the plot of New Moon (along with a few mentions of the plot of Twilight). Then, they discussed what they were having for dinner. This was followed by gossip about their cousin and someone’s mother. We could hear the displeasure of others as these two dip-shits proceeded to ruin everyone’s time (even more than the acting in New Moon).
I typically ignore people like that when I’m in a theater, but I had been taking prescribed steroids for a few days while recovering from an injury and I apparently got a touch of the “roid rage.” So, about 30 minutes into the movie I did something I’d always wanted to do in a movie theater. I took my eyes from the lighted screen, turned my head toward the darkened theater row behind me and said, “If you two ladies would like to continue your conversation, you should go out to the fucking lobby and do it!”
What followed was a moment of silence, then, “Are you just criticizing just me or are you talking about all them other people who are talking in here? I paid for my ticket just like everybody else.” (Yes, she really did say, “just” twice in that first sentence.) At this point I had many insightful bits of dialogue I wished deeply to share with this woman, however, I held my tongue for two reasons. First, I didn’t want to interfere with the other patrons’ movie going experience, because I’m sure at least one person in the theater was enjoying the film. Second, I knew that if I ignored her it would drive her crazy, which it did, because they started to crumple and shake a bag behind us and whisper.
A few moments later, my wife stepped out of the theater and went to the lobby and located a clerk standing next to the popcorn who asked if he could help her with anything. With a smile, she replied, “Could you please tell the two women who are sitting behind me to kindly shut the fuck up? They’ve been disrupting the audience since they came in and they were belligerent when they first came into the theater. They’ve been asked by us, and other people, to be quiet. They are crinkling candy wrappers and shaking a bag in our ears. They’ve done everything they can to annoy us tonight. They’re rude and you’re going to have people asking for a refund if you don’t get them to be quiet.”
The clerk then began to stutter and shake, but managed to get out the words, “I don’t normally. . .” at which point Lacy cut him off with a firm, “Please?” It’s worth mentioning that during this conversation, in true movie style, someone in the office leaned back in a chair and peered out through the doorway. I’m sure this scene was more entertaining than anything that happened in New Moon.
My wife soon returned with the usher. She pointed out the ladies and the usher leaned over and quietly told them to be quiet. This calmed them down for most of the film. Although near the end of the film, the mom kept saying, “This is the ending.”
Once the credits rolled, the mother and her daughter got up. I remained seated because I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of getting any more of my attention. The mom said, “Just to let you know, you using the f-word was a lot worse than me talking through the whole movie, because there are kids in here,” then her daughter added, “Yeah, little kids.” I smiled and laughed to myself. I guess they didn’t know you can use the word “fuck” at least once in a PG-13 movie. Also, “little kids” shouldn’t be at a PG-13 movie.
Anyway, as we exited the theater, my wife noticed that the two women were standing by the counter, I assume it was to get a refund for their tickets. Well, if she got a refund, I only have one thing to say, “Looks like you didn’t pay for you ticket like everyone else after all, bitch!”
Half Gleason 