15 June 2009

Theatrical Combat

An unfortunate altercation occurred whilst I was in taking in the otherwise enjoyable theatrical event that was The Hangover. Said incident took place toward the expository side of the moving picture, and thus the momentum of the piece was not terribly run off course, and began to build again shortly after peace fell upon the hushed crowd.

Wait, wait....Let me try to put that another way: Saw Hangover. Some dude in the audience got jacked in the face. In the face.

It happened during the introduction of Bradley Cooper's character, in the beginning of the movie, but the audience apparently retained their curiosity throughout the rest of the film because as the credits rolled, those closest to the action underwent interrogation. From what I overheard then, and from what I saw of the actual incident, I was able to piece together a rough timeline of events.

As everyone was seating, a middle-aged man was moving to his seat with a container filled with pop (or "soda" as it is also known). He accidentally spilled some of this "soda" on the shirt of someone in the same aisle, someone perhaps younger, who was perhaps wearing a yellow shirt (it was dark, I couldn't be sure). The older man presumably apologized (I was unable to confirm or deny), but the younger man was unable to let the matter go. The older man eventually became defensive, and informed the younger man that he should "lay off."

This happened about five to six rows in front of me. I did not hear any of this back and forth, and did not know there was any tension in the air. It was the Loew's theater in Lincoln Square, not a place typically known for its gritty streets and rampant gang fights, and I did not go in anticipating to see a show unrelated to the movie. So it was a surprise when I watched the younger man stand up shuffle a few feet over, and soundly punch the older man on the upper forehead.

Much to their credit, the people in the rows immediately behind these two men instantly sprang into action. Many of them stood up and gave a collective "Hey!" Then the younger man punched the older man a second time, and the group gave another "Hey!," managing to imbue it with an offended, "Didn't you hear what I said?" tone. The younger man stopped punching, and left the theater. A couple of women volunteered for clean-up duties, calling out for Security, ordering people to fetch ice for the injured party (who soon after left the theater) and crying out for someone to Stop that guy! when the younger man amscrayed.

Sidenote: I think women are more likely to jump up and get into the face of an aggressive person than men are. It doesn't matter if they know the people fighting, they will go right up to the instigator and rip him a new one, usually verbally, sometimes physically. I've witnessed it on a few occasions, and have a theory as to why it occurs. One could argue that it's a maternal instinct that runs stronger in some, or perhaps a need for organization and cleanliness more commonly attributed to women. And perhaps there is some of that base-DNA, primate-level reasoning to it. But my theory is much simpler; I think it's because women can be reasonably certain that they're not going to get jacked in the face as well. If a man steps in, he becomes another target; if a woman steps in, both guys are probably going to knock it off for fear of hitting a woman, and they likely won't turn against her with their fists. We're taught not to hit women, after all, and most of our society enforces it quite stringently as one of those taboos worse than drug dealing and firebombing. Perhaps it's pre-feminist, gentlemanly bullshit, but there it is--even men (and it's always a man) who will randomly punch someone in the face will not typically raise their hands to a woman (not in public, at least). Of course, some people aren't so level headed, so there's still plenty of risk involved with stepping up, no matter your gender.

I don't know if the younger man was caught, and what the fall out from the altercation, if any, was. As everyone in the back rows started asking What was going on? I had the urge to laugh--at the audience's reaction, at my own callousness (because I wanted everyone to sit down and go back to watching the movie), at the pure insanity of it all. Other people as callous as I voiced their own suggestions for turning back to the movie, and we did, soon falling back into its rhythms.

It is a good movie, by the way, for all the reasons you've read in reviews. I would only like to note that Todd Phillips is one of those comedic directors who seems to give a shit what his films look like. I thought the movie, on a pure cinematography basis, looked damn good, with crisp lighting and a richness to its film stock. Other reviewers disagreed with me, but I think they're just being willfully blind to the great work of the film's director of photography, Lawrence Sher.

Also, did anyone else catch that visual Casino reference? I think I was the only one in the theater who laughed.

The fight incident brought up my past encounters of theatrical combat, none of which I was much involved in, thank Christ, but that ended up shading my memories of the movies they happened during. I cannot watch them without thinking of the incidents, for better or for worse, and if for some reason the movies are brought up, I don't think of my favorite moments, but the time I was nearly beaten to death.

There haven't been many of them, largely because I now consciously avoid the type of crowds where hot-heads are likely to show up--premiere weekends when the theaters fill with mentally awkward teenagers and other dumbasses who have something to prove. I don't avoid these crowds because I'm afraid of getting my head stomped, I avoid them because these people are usually unable to shut the fuck up, get off their goddamn phone, and watch the fucking movie. But it has been a nice side benefit.

Way back in 2001, I was watching the original The Fast and the Furious (you know, the one with "The" in the title) when some kind of fight broke out far above us in the back rows. I don't remember the details because I wasn't paying attention to them. There was some yelling and swearing, followed by security kicking somebody out and the rest of the theater clapping.

Much more dangerous was when I went to see Superbad with a friend of mine in Union Square. Four or five guys were sitting directly behind us dressed in matching outfits of armsleeve tattoos, low riding khaki shorts, polo shirts, and sideways pointing hats: a set of droogs for the frat-tard era. They were more generally annoying during the showing, making pointless "jokes" that failed to rise to even the level of your common heckler. Then, during the obligatory serious part where the friends argue so they can reconcile later, one of them shouted "BO-RING!" As one, everyone in the theater turned around and went "Shhh!" My friend, who was sitting right in front of them, ended his "Shhh!" with "Shut the fuck up." I heard the guy ask one of his friends "Did I deserve a 'Shut the fuck up?'" The friend gave him a negatory.

Ohhh, shit, I thought. I could see where this was going. On the commentary track for the "Gone" episode of "Spaced" (the best episode), the creators mention the sense young men have for the likelihood that another young man will indulge in a bit of the old ultraviolence, and modulating their actions based on it. As usual, they are quite astute, and I could feel that sense blaring in my head like a car alarm.

Throughout the rest of the movie, I could hear them mumbling between themselves. It was the sort of thing where you couldn't make out the exact words, but you knew it was bad, and you knew they were going to start something after the showing. I was able to focus somewhat on the movie, but another part of me was wondering if my buddy noticed them as well, and what the best way to vacate the theater would be, and if there was some chance of us staying to see if there would be anything after the credits.

When the movie was over, we shuffled out. My friend somehow got ahead of me in the crowd, and I watched the droogs silently surround him. They seemed to have no interest in me, and I briefly flirted with the idea of walking away and moseying home without a care in the world. Unfortunately, my much-lamented senses of "honor" and "loyalty" kicked in, and so I followed them out into the lobby.

There, I saw the group on all sides of my friend, saying something to him and pointing at his chest with gusto. He had his hands up in a placatory gesture, but I doubted it was enough for them. A security guard was standing beside the group, perhaps not realizing its capacity for violence, or perhaps not caring. But he gave me an outlet for escape.

I walked up to him and gestured to the group and said that they were bothering us, had been very rude during the movie, and were now making threats. I tried to keep my voice steady, but as usual I suck at conflict, and thought I detected its dire need to crack and waver like a pubescent. But I kept my mouth flapping. They turned on me and asked "Oh were we? Really?" in that snotty and sarcastic tone, and I said "Yes, yes indeed" or something close to it. The security guard did not give a shit about us one way or the other, and just wanted us to take it somewhere else. He started pushing the droogs toward the exit, while my friend and I managed to avoid the dragnet. As they were shuffled out, they yelled at us that they would be waiting for us outside.

My friend and I went back inside the theater to see if there was anything after the credits, and I heard them shout to the security guard "They're going back in!" But apparently he didn't mind, because no one stopped us. There was nothing, and we walked back out and looked at each other. I was starting to get a sense of impending doom - if they're waiting for us outside, how are we going to get out? I saw a side exit and suggested we take it. On our way down the stairs, we wondered if they would perhaps think of that, and be waiting for us on the other side of the doors. Our speed increased, and when we emerged into the August night, he hailed a cab, and I sped down 14th Street and turned up onto Fifth Avenue, not stopping until I reached Grand Central.

That's it as far as my own experiences go (so far). If you have your own stories of theater ruckuses, please share it in the comments. While real life violence sucks, stories about it are pretty cool, and will provide us all with endless entertainment.

No comments:

Post a Comment