IT SHOULDN’T HAPPEN TO A FILM JOURNALIST
Jamie goes dogging (ahem).
As Nietzsche said, “Hell is other moviegoers,” (I think that was it) and I’ve written in this column before about some of the horrendous viewing experiences I’ve endured at the cinema. And if you don’t remember what they were (try the guy who answered his mobile and had a conversation about his athlete’s foot, or the bloke who crunched nachos and slurped down a bucket of cola during Steve McQueen’s Hunger, or the family who unparcelled an entire picnic to the thunderous crinkling of tinfoil), then you’re sure to recall your own multiplex ’mares. Who, after all, hasn’t been there?
Well, last week I hit upon a solution – dog-friendly screenings. The location was the Rooftop Film Club in Peckham, south London, and the movie was
The Princess Bride. With me was my trusty Labradoodle Gene (named after Gene Hackman because, as a puppy, he had a crumpled face and an air of gruff – or should that be ruff? – authority), and together we settled down on a balmy summer evening to enjoy Rob Reiner’s fantasy classic. Or rather I did – Gene, I’m sorry to admit, only had eyes for his tasty chew.
Four legs good
The way it worked was this: you bought a drink at the bar; plonked yourself down in a roomy deckchair with views of Canary Wharf gleaming beneath the rising Moon; and put on a pair of headphones to enjoy the sword fights at full volume without fear of distressing the hounds.
Truth be told, I went along just for the experience and, naturally, to show Gene what it is that I do when I leave the house each day (I’m not sure he really understood, but he tilted his head as I talked so I at least felt listened to). But at some point during that magical evening, as I watched the film uninterrupted, a penny dropped – all movies should be shown this way.
Think about it. If everyone brings a dog, that means half the humans in attendance, and half the chance of some dick sending text messages or clipping their toenails (yes, I’ve witnessed this in a cinema). Also, by wearing headphones, it immediately encloses you in your own little world, meaning the only way to chat to mates is to take off your headphones, tap someone’s shoulder, and get them to remove their headphones – a lot of effort for some flippant remark.
great scotty!
OK, so the downside is you don’t quite get that communal atmosphere that is so damn wonderful when an audience gasps or laughs or screams as one – you can still hear the reactions, but muffled – and there’s a chance a mutt will eat your popcorn if you put it down for one second. But dogs, in my experience, are better trained than people, and their eagerness to socialise in the foyer adds a whole other layer of enjoyment to your cinema outing. We humans could learn a lot from them, though I’d suggest you at least buy a stranger a hotdog before sniffing their butt.
There’s one more benefit, too. If you find your mind wandering during the movie, you can give your pooch a ruffle, or turn your attention to the array of beasts.
In LA a couple of years ago, I went to a normal film showing and was delighted when a lady arrived with a chihuahua, which she placed on the seat between us. Scotty (yes, I asked), was perfectly behaved, luxuriating in a nice wash followed by a twitching, snuffling sleep, and he certainly made for better viewing than
King Arthur: Legend Of The Sword.
And while Scotty took a dump on the pavement the moment he left the cinema, that is a lot more acceptable than some pissed idiot hollering and belching his way through Midsommar.
Jamie will return next issue… For more misadventures, follow: @jamie_graham9 on Twitter.
‘SCOTTY THE CHIHUAHUA CERTAINLY MADE FOR BETTER VIEWING THAN KING ARTHUR’