This is the world we live in. A large percentage of the population hates movie theaters because they're expensive, filled with kids and because everything being released is a remake or cartoon or franchise picture that damns the soul with its marketing assault. That's not actual truth but a generalization that only carries merit if you don't dig any deeper. There's another percentage that still sees the divide between the big screen and the small screen and seeks out the cinema experience. Regardless of one's take on the material out there, the presentation continually evolves and becomes more immersive and exciting.
Except when you watch a quiet and intimate indie film at the multiplex while a bombastic and overcranked film is in the next theater. This is what happened as we screened the upcoming A Ghost Story last week. In the next theater Transformers: The Last Knight played, sending concussions of unfiltered stupid through walls, insulation, cloth, and human skin. A Ghost Story is an intimate, emotional, and very deliberately paced affair. It is all nuance and quiet, selling the loss and grief and confusion that anchors the story. Loudly, on top of that nuance was the muffled but no less audible sounds of intellect-smashing bombast from Michael Bay's latest cribfire. Metal crunching, Mark Wahlberg's high-pitched pleading, and digitized whitepeoplevoices from machines covered A Ghost Story like a mucous membrane, damn near soiling the experience.
It was a screening, so the film wasn't going to be playing at this particular theater. At least hopefully not right next to the robot shitwreck currently occupying the next stall. But it creates a quandry:
Arthouse movies need to be able to reach into the suburbs where thoughts are stifled and creativity finds a barren womb. There needs to be room for films like A Ghost Story in places outside major metropolitan areas. It's how the medium flourishes, new minds get hooked, and people who were forced into the quieter places to raise families and afford to live still get their fix. As a result, theaters need to be cognizant not only of what balance of movies they're showing but the proximity of the really loud ones to the really quiet ones.
I remember being at a showing of Your Friends and Neighbors and having to endure a couple of guys talking about getting wasted at a party in the hall outside the theater. Thin walls, poorly executed acoustics, sound-enhancing hallways, and numerous other elements can scuttle an experience. And that's not even factoring in cell phones, people talking, loud breathers, or popcorn eaters auditioning for the Sloth roles in The Goonies AND Seven.
To keep the cinema experience alive and vital, theaters need to elevate the cinema experience and make it as special as possible.