Courgette Aubergine and the Deathly Movie Theater

UPDATED 8/3/11:  Mikl scanned his "ticket" for me (see below).


Kate: Beware of slight spoilers.

When Mikl asked who was up for midnight Harry Potter, I hesitated. I am rarely out after dark anymore and, since I don't have the option of sleeping in, watching a movie until 3AM would be quite a stretch. But I reconsidered, because my opportunities for doing crazy things with Mikl are growing limited. Little did I know that we'd be lucky to get into the theater at all.

It took Mikl most of the day to buy tickets. Southpoint was sold out, so Wynnsong was the second choice. But their system was down for hours and it was afternoon before he could buy two tickets on Fandango.

Pumped full of Sundrop, I met him at Wynnsong at 11:30. The line to retrieve online tickets stretched a mile into the parking lot. Why no one thought to snake the line along the sidewalk is beyond me. Instead, the latecomers had to carefully maneuver their cars around the queue to find the last remaining parking spaces.

When we eventually got up to the window, Mikl handed the ticket guy his printout and he handed Mikl back one ticket.

"Excuse me, I purchased two tickets."

"Sorry," said Ticket Guy, "It only printed one."

"Um, yes I see, but here it clearly says two."

Ticket Guy stared at the printout for awhile and then shrugged.

"It must've only registered that you bought one."

"Well, you can see that I paid for two."

"Look, I'm sorry but..."

"OK, then can I have my money back?"

I could tell that Ticket Guy was close to giving us a "take it up with Fandango" speech, but then he spotted a manager and told us to move to his window. The manager read the printout, looked at the one printed ticket and sighed. He thought for a minute and then scribbled a large, nearly illegible note on the printout and signed it.

"This'll get you in," he said. But I had my doubts.

We proceeded into the crowded lobby where the temperature jumped 20 degrees. There was no line, because there was nowhere to form one. The room was just a mass of people which bottlenecked at the theater entrance. I was uncomfortably hot in my shorts and t-shirt, but I guessed that was mild compared to the fanatics in their Hogwarts cloaks. We all stood and waited, chatting excitedly, checking the time on our phones. Every few minutes, we'd strain our necks to see if they were letting people into the theaters yet. But the crowd was clearly not moving. And as the line outside got shorter, the room became increasingly claustrophobic.

Mikl & I amused ourselves by listening to conversations around us. Some were hoping their favorite scenes had made it into the film. Others clearly hadn't read the books and were arguing about whether Snape was really a bad guy. Someone behind me said, "Oh, I never saw the first three in theaters. I was too young." I remembered how I'd read the first book on my honeymoon and immediately felt old.

As with most summer blockbusters, the movie was overly advertised. There were standees placed throughout the lobby and banners hung from the ceiling. The effect was such that everywhere I looked, I could see the stricken, war-worn faces of Harry, Hermione, Ron and Neville. It was early yet, but I was already starting to sympathize with them. Finally, the ushers started to let some people through, but it was taking much longer than seemed necessary. The crowd pushed and bunched and did the annoying things that crowds always do: Some people push and cut ahead, some people yell at the pushers and line-cutters, and the rest of just try to keep from killing the first two groups.

When we got towards the front of the "line", Mikl and I moved to the side so I could duck into the bathroom. (One of my biggest movie-nerd pet peeves is having to leave the theater to pee. I probably permanently damaged my bladder by holding it through half of Return of the King.) I told Mikl to wait out in the hall for me, assuming that his ticket would get torn while I was in the bathroom. But when I emerged, he hadn't moved an inch. By this time, we could hear snippets of conversations between the ushers and the increasingly restless patrons. It seemed that, instead of filling up the theaters based on the auditorium number on our tickets, the ushers were trying to fill one theater at a time. If done correctly, I can see how this could've been an efficient method. Except that no one was counting how many people had entered each theater. Instead, they'd announce whether they were filling a 3-D or 2-D theater and open the floodgates for a few minutes. Then they'd wait until everyone had found seats, count each empty seat and come back out to announce, "We've got 5 empty seats for 3-D. Do we have 5 for 3-D?"

When you're picturing this, keep in mind that there was no real line. Also keep in mind that there were hundreds of people talking loudly in a large, echoey room. THEN keep in mind that the ushers did not have anything to amplify their voices. So, when an usher said something like, "5 for 3-D," only the first few rows could actually hear and understand what was being said. The 3-D ticket holders would start raising their hands and/or shouting, "We've got 3!" "We've got 4 over here!" Whoever shouted loudest would get selected by the ushers and would leave for the theater. Then, all those who were out of auditory range would feel the crowd moving and would push forward as well, until the ushers were forced to scream, "STOP! STOP!" This series of events happened over and over and over again.

Meanwhile, the lucky few who'd actually made it to their seats, were now taking turns braving the lobby for concessions and the bathrooms. So while the rest of us were trying desperately to understand what was going on and whether or not we should try to move, we also had to dodge the upstream swimmers. They'd tunnel their way through and then we'd see them again ten minutes later, clutching their popcorn, torn ticket held high out in front like a wand.

At this point, it was well past midnight and the crowd could accurately be described as an angry mob. The staff was now well aware that their plan was a bad one and that they were in way over their heads. People were pleading for updates, screaming for the ushers to talk louder, shouting for the people in the back to stop pushing. One usher, in a last ditch effort to organize the unorganizable, yelled, "OK, EVERYONE! 3-D ON THIS SIDE, 2-D ON THIS SIDE!" I was about to try to explain to him how stupid this was, since, not only could we barely move, but 95% of us couldn't see which direction his was pointing. But there was no need. He was met with such an immediate barrage of angry howls and threats (I swear I heard someone say, "Avada Kedavra!") that he'd barely finished his sentence before he started backtracking. "OK OK, NEVERMIND! FORGET IT," he pleaded, his hands thrown up defensively, as if he'd wanted to add, "PLEASE DON'T HURT ME! I JUST WORK HERE!" Those of us near the front had gotten sick of the pushing and had moved past the ticket-tearing area and were loitering in the hall. A few people made a run for it and dashed into open auditoriums. I wondered if maybe they had the right idea, but I figured I'd be good. After all, we'd waited this long, I could hold out a bit longer.

My memory gets pretty fuzzy at this point. There were still staff members running up and down the halls. Every once in awhile, one of them would call out "2-D" or "3-D" and a quantity of seats, followed by the now inescapable shouting and pushing. One usher was being told to, "HURRY UP AND FIND THE REST OF THE 3-D GLASSES" but he kept running past the box, not seeing it. The managers were attempting to talk down some of the angriest patrons. A few ushers still wanted to organize us somehow, but most seemed to have given up on trying to improve things and were just hoping to live through it. At least one usher looked like he'd given up on everything; life, even.

In the throes of this near-panic, one of the managers dropped the bombshell: They'd oversold the theater and not all ticket-holders would get seats.

I expected anarchy. I imagined the headline: NERD-RIOT KILLS CARMIKE STAFF! I pressed against the wall for safety and wondered if I should go into the fetal position. But the riot never came. The managers' announcement that they'd be giving refunds was enough for most people, and it achieved the organization that the ushers had been attempting for an hour. No screaming, no lurching, just a group of grumbling people, patiently waiting for their money back. Within two minutes, the hall was clear. All that was left were about twenty of us. We were the dedicated; the hardcore; the last ones standing. We smiled weakly at each other, in recognition of shared geekiness.

By this time, we were a disheveled looking bunch. Those who had been costumed at the beginning of the evening were now in various stages of undress: cloaks or Hagrid beards thrown over their shoulders, ties loosened, drawn-on lightning bolts smudging on their foreheads. All of us were exhausted and sweaty. Mikl asked if I thought we should get in the refund line, but I shook my head. Amazingly, once the herd was thinned, I felt ok again. I was wiped out, but I could breathe. The dementors had been repelled. There was a light at the end of the tunnel.

Actually, there were several lights at the end of the tunnel, in the form of signs indicating theater entrances. I figured now that we could actually hear the ushers and be heard, maybe we had a chance of getting a seat. Hopeful, I joined the group surrounding a man I'll call Crazy Usher. Crazy Usher was ranting loudly about how ridiculous this whole situation was. "It was just as crowded for Part 1, so it's not like they can claim they didn't know!" He seemed more worked up than the patrons at this point, although he'd probably been holding it in longer. At least, I thought optimistically, he didn't seem in any shape to give us shit about Mikl's hand-written ticket.

We could hear noises coming from most of the auditoriums but we couldn't tell if they were previews or the actual movie. Everyone who wasn't busy with refunds was searching for empty seats. When they located some, they'd ask us, "2-D? 3-D?" To which almost everyone replied through clenched teeth, "I don't care anymore." Mikl located the box of glasses that the frantic usher had been searching for and grabbed two pairs. Now we didn't have to care anymore either. We were armed. We had our wands and our Hallows.  Now we just needed someone to point us in the right direction.

Crazy Usher's job was gatekeeper, but his heart clearly wasn't in it. A theater door opened and a movie-goer poked his head out and shouted, "There are three empty seats down here!" Without hesitation, a group of three took off towards the open door. Crazy Usher looked for a moment like he might try to hold them back, but then shrugged and thought better of it. "RUN," we shouted encouragingly while others applauded, "DON'T LOOK BACK! SAVE YOURSELVES!"

I thought it would be simple to locate seats for the remaining few, but after ten uneventful minutes, the ushers seemed to have vanished. Crazy Usher looked around, made sure his boss wasn't there and waved his hands indicating that the rest of us could search for ourselves if we wanted to. I paused, wondering how we would see empty seats in the dark. Suddently, Mikl and I were the last customers in the hallway. I looked at my phone and it was almost 1AM. Crazy Usher said he'd go look for seats, but I doubted his motivation. Besides, now that the hallway was silent, it was clear the movie had already started playing on all 15 screens. My other movie-nerd pet peeve, the one I hate maybe even more than having to leave to pee, is arriving after the movie has already begun. I hung my head and felt defeated. We'd tried so hard.

Mikl turned to me. "Is it time to give up and get a refund?" he asked.

"Yeah," I answered sadly.

I tried to tell myself it wasn't a big deal. And it wasn't. I know that. I am aware that if this was a tweet, its hashtag would be something like #firstworldproblems, or #whitepeopleproblems, or maybe #geekproblems.  In the big, or even the medium scheme of things, not seeing a midnight premiere of the last Harry Potter movie is not even a blip.  I knew that.  But that didn't stop it from feeling like a big deal.  It felt like we'd lost a battle. It felt like Hagrid was carrying dead-Harry in his arms and we were looking on in disbelief and despair as Voldemort laughed triumphantly. We turned to go.

The second we began walking away, we heard voices. The door had reopened on the last auditorium and a small group of angry people started dashing down the hall. As a manager appeared, one of them shouted, "You need to fix the reels! Theatre 7 is showing Super 8!" More people surfaced from the same auditorium, in groups of one or two. Most were just verifying that the manager had been alerted to the problem and was going to fix it. But a few people just walked off into the lobby, apparently deciding that Super 8 was the last straw on their already overloaded camel.

Mikl and I looked at each other. Then we ran towards the light of Auditorium 7.

We entered the theater as the Super 8 reel was being yanked off. I scanned for empty seats. I spotted a row--a great row, one or two rows up from the rail--with two empty seats that weren't next to each other. "Excuse me," I said to a guy dressed as Voldemort, "Is anyone sitting there or there?" He quickly conversed with the rest of the row and everyone cooperatively scooted over so there were two seats together, right in the middle of the row. Mikl and I sat down just as the Harry Potter reel started playing, to thunderous applause.

My un-torn ticket. My trophy.

I'll have to wait for the DVD release to know if the movie was really as good as I remember. Steve saw it the following night and judged it as pretty good, but not great. I almost argued with him, but then I remembered that he went to a theater whose staff had their shit together. He walked in, had his ticket torn and sat down. I battled. The walk from the parking lot to the auditorium felt like an epic journey and every emotion in the movie was amplified because of it. It was beautiful and cleansing. Good triumphed over evil and I was there to see it. And that's the story of how, with perserverance, a little luck and a good friend by my side, I defeated Durham's Wynnsong 15.


Epilogue:  
After I clicked "Publish Post," Blogger showed me an ad for Fandango.  FAIL.