Why don't we ask for refunds at the movie theater more often?
Think of it like a restaurant. First you sit through four portions of "samplers" for loud dishes you don't care about, and then the entrée arrives. After three bites, you can tell it's not very good. It's overseasoned, and the meat is dry and chewy. You call the waiter over and say you don't want to pay for this. The waiter asks if you'd like something else.
"Like what? I've seen 'Barbie,' and the only other thing playing right now is the 'Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.'" The waiter is confused because he was not informed that he was participating in an analogy.
I mention this because we went to see "Oppenheimer." An impressive movie, although I think it sagged a bit in the fifth hour.
Sometimes you see a biopic, then google the story and find they made up most of it. This one was scrupulous, right down to "amount of facial sweat regularly exuded by Edward Teller" — which has its own Wikipedia page, I think.
When I heard that they didn't use CGI for the nuclear bomb test, I wondered: "What? They got an actual nuke for the scene?" Imagine if Stanley Kubrick had directed it. Take after take, a total of 67 nuclear detonations, until he was satisfied. Cast and crew glowing like Reddy Kilowatt, but that was Stanley. Total perfectionist.
Anyway. I had no complaints about the movie. It's a rare summer blockbuster that makes you wonder why its protagonist did not pursue his theories on star implosions to the logical conclusion of black-hole existence.
It seems ungenerous to complain of its length when the performances were so fine. So what's the problem? My seat was behind a railing that cut through the view of the screen. The only way to see the movie without the obstruction involved sitting cross-legged on the chair and craning one's neck like a judgmental librarian who heard someone snicker. The seat simply should not have been sold to anyone who wasn't 9 feet tall.
So afterwards I asked to see the manager. He was about one-third my age, but then again, so were the men who stormed Normandy. He had the guarded smile of someone who has to deal with people who ask to see the manager.
I just wanted to tell someone that the railing was a preposterous impediment, and I implored him to use his vast influence with the movie company to stop selling that seat. He apologized and said he would see if there were other seats available.
"No," I said. "We ate the dinner. We enjoyed the ice cream. It's over. Just please, for the sake of others, tell corporate not to sell that seat." And how was I repaid for my selfless act of altruism? Two free passes.
It was all so easy it made me wonder if we could get free passes if we nitpicked for aesthetic or dramatic reasons, however ridiculous. "The movie was defective! There were scenes in black and white. If I'm paying $24 for a ticket, I don't want them scrimping on the color!" And they give you a free pass just to get rid of you.
"The squeaky wheel does get the grease," my wife said when we left, free passes in hand. That's so, but perhaps after you've complained to the same guy 10 movies in a row, they stick your head under the spout of the complimentary popcorn topping. "Here's your grease in non-analogous form, pal." You know the poor manager's been just waiting to say that.
