October 1, 2008
By Carol Starr Schneider
Take a group of humans. Any humans will do. Put them in a situation where talking is a no-no. Then give a shout-out for silence and see what happens. There are many ways to get the message across. Post a sign: Thank You for Not Talking. Spell it out in neon lights: No Talking Zone. Erect a billboard on Sunset Boulevard: Talkers Fined $50 Per Syllable.
Alas, the results will be the same. They’ll talk even more. They just can’t help themselves. They need to share their thoughts despite the prerequisite for self-control.
To many, a movie theater is merely an extension of their living room. Add popcorn, soda and candy to this scenario and their confusion only mounts. Mention that movie theaters are designed for people to talk on screen, and not in the audience, and they’ll look at you funny. Say what? This is news to them.
Okay, I get why people talk. There’s action and drama and dialogue going on up there and maybe they missed a line or dozed off during a scene. It’s natural to turn to their neighbor and ask for an instant replay: “What did she say?” “What just happened?” “Why can’t I find a guy like that?”
What I don’t get is why the talkers always sit near me. I seem to attract the gabbiest moviegoers and it isn’t fair. They plant their tushies down and launch into their chat-a-thon as if I don’t even exist. How sad is that?
It happened again over the weekend. I took myself to see “Nights in Rodanthe.” I needed a nice romantic chick flick. I have a thing for Richard Gere. The guy just gets better looking, year after year. Must I explain myself?
So off I went. I sat down in my own little aisle and casually checked out potential talkers. I can usually peg the talkers ahead of time. If they’re talking loudly before the movie starts and talking during the trailers, they will talk during the movie, guaranteed. I’m never wrong.
I’ve been known to move my seat several times before a movie begins. Once the movie starts, I’m in trouble. My options start to dwindle. I can stumble in the dark, step on toes and land on strangers’ laps in my quest for quiet. Or I can stay put and start shushing.
I’m an excellent shusher, you see. I could win a shushing contest, hands-down. When it comes to shushing, I’d earn a 10 for consistency. The best part about my shushing? When I shush, you don’t even know it’s me doing the shushing. That’s how good I am. I’m the subtlest of shushers.
It’s a skill that’s taken years to perfect. I’ve learned the hard way that shushing is an art form. While it’s tempting to turn around, look directly at the talker and hiss a venonmous “SHUSH!” right at them, I’m telling you, don’t go there.
A shush that stings with condemnation sounds more like “SHUT THE # @! % UP!” than the more socially-acceptable shush that conveys your multi-layered message far more politely.
Trust me, a dainty, British-like shush has a better chance of getting the job done, because it comes across like this: “Excuse me? Sorry to disturb, but would you mind not ruining the film for me with your silly prattle? Much appreciated. You’re not as a big an arse as I thought.”
I send my shush out into the universe not as a challenge to fight me in the parking lot, but as a general plea for consideration. No one knows I’m the shusher. I remain anonymous and assertive at the same time.
During “Nights in Rodanthe,” for instance, three loquacious ladies, mistaking the movie theater for their local bar, received three of my expert shushes.
“Don’t take him back!” one of them called out.
“Shush!” I requested, rather discreetly, I thought.
“What the # @ $ %’s wrong with her?” cried another.
“Shush!” I suggested in a dignified manner.
“Great! You want her to be single again?!” moaned the chattiest of the three.
I admit, by then, I’d had it. “Oh, shush!” I commanded with a tad more intensity. This time, my shushing did the trick. For the rest of the film, the party of three issued a collective sigh or sniffle now and then, but that was it. My work was done.
When the movie let out, I exchanged warm smiles with the yacketeers. They had no idea I was the shusher in question. I was just another gal totally gaga over Gere. It was safe for me to walk to the car without fear of retribution. I’d shushed as necessary, and they were none the wiser. And wouldn’t you know I discovered I was parked next to the worst offender. “Great movie,” I said, unlocking my door. “The best,” she sniffled in agreement. As I drove away, it felt so good to be me.
Comments
cariedaway (anonymous) says...
OK, so how DO you do the "subtle", ventriloquist-like (they don't know WHERE it's coming from) Shush? I want the secret trick!
October 2, 2008 at 5:45 p.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )
golfergirl (anonymous) says...
This is my number one pet peeve. I will be practicing "throwing my shush" too!
October 3, 2008 at 8:47 a.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )
showbizkid (anonymous) says...
To answer carieaway, I shush forward... it's a general shush directed in front; a plea to all the inconsiderate talkers. Once you turn around and engage the worst offenders, it can get dicey. Like golfergirl says, you throw your shush.
October 4, 2008 at 12:04 p.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )
Cara_Fidler (anonymous) says...
I agree. Cultivating the fine are of shushing is an absolute necessity, nowadays, since many people are unable to control and silence their pieholes for more than a few minutes, let alone the entire length of the movie. Better a "shush" than a push!
October 5, 2008 at 11 p.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )
cathy (cathy) says...
Yesterday, we went to a live theatre peformance that my daughter was in. As the main character was delivering a monologue, asking himself the rhetorical questions, "Is she the one I love?", two people in the audience both answered "no," as if they were talking to someone in their living room. People are losing it, I tell you!
October 6, 2008 at 3:42 p.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )
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