No Repeat Cinematic Experience

It’s official: I have hit that age where I now say I remember when…

I remember when the cinema was cheap.

That’s certainly changed; £93.00 it cost us for four people. Well, that certainly has not happened again.

Popcorn ready and camera rolling—a perfect setup for cinematic excitement!

We decided to go to the cinema to watch Avatar: The Way of Water; I had waited years for this. The first Avatar I absolutely loved; it was amazing- just everything about it. It had action, the love story, suspense, fantasy, and it was funny. Well worth the watch. So I waited for thirteen years; I considered myself a loyal fan and had to watch the new Avatar with the full cinematic experience as soon as it came out. I felt I had waited long enough and deserved this.

In the run-up, I made the kids watch it three times so they knew the story, as I didn’t want any questions whilst I was enjoying my popcorn, watching my most anticipated film of the century. I could hardly contain my excitement; I even put on my Sunday best for the occasion.

We pull into the car park; I do my best to hype the kids up so they can at least match my excitement levels, much to my fella Bo’s disapproval. Ziaza looked on through sheer embarrassment whilst my lad, Alexander, and I ran around the car park pretending to fly the Ikran; at least he had the correct amount of enthusiasm.

We went into the cinema, and I look around for the box office so I can buy our tickets. Now, I know sometimes I wear glasses, but I am not that blind, and I could not see it anywhere. So I march off in search of my ticket. The kids start to shout at me, pointing: “It's there.”

A grand view of a historic theatre, showcasing its ornate balconies and plush red seating, all illuminated by the soft glow of stage lights.

I look, and I can’t see anything other than a row of screens that Bo is leaning against; some help he is. I’m not interested in those touchscreen games, although there are a lot of people around them. I might let the kids have a play after the film. But I am telling you there is no big shiny reception-type desk to lean against, whilst I stare at the screen that isn’t there. There is no screen behind the box office desk showing all of the day's listings that I can muse over, whilst knowing what I want to watch, what time I want to see it, but refuse to tell the patiently waiting lady behind the desk until I can see it on the screen. All I can see is an amused-looking Bo and two very impatient kids looking at me as if I am the most stupid person in the world, and all these people playing what seem to be very short screen games.

I know, I will ask the kind cinema attendant where the box office is so I can get the tickets.

At this rate it will have started without me. He smiles, pats my arm, which I find quite patronising; I know I am in my late thirties (at the time), but I didn’t think I looked that old. He leads me toward the screen games only to be told that you can get your tickets from here. Now I know it has been a long time since I have been to the cinema, but I just want the normal box office service.

Clearly this is too much to ask for.

I understand things get updated and modernised, and I know it isn’t like when I first went to the cinema with my Dad. That was amazing. Picture this: you are a little kid, all excited; you go to the cinema, not just any cinema; we were lucky enough to live near the best cinema ever. You climb up the giant oval steps, go through the grand entrance and over to the box office where the lady leans down and asks what you want to watch. My Dad looks at the board with tiny little white letters stuck to it; someone must hate that job when they have to rewrite it and rearrange all of those small white letters.

A majestic orca breaches the serene ocean surface, reminiscent of iconic moments from "Free Willy."

He says, “I’ll have one and two halves (me and my sister) to watch Free Willy.”

We walk through, clutching our tickets, get a box of popcorn and a drink that, as I remember, was nearly as big as me and go up the stairs. We sit in a balcony and look down at this massive screen that plays cartoons before the film starts.

I am not expecting this sort of experience, but I expected an actual checkout counter or at least a till. I look at the screen, wondering what I am expected to do with this. I absolutely hate these things. I know it isn’t a big deal, but to me it is. I despise them; why can't I just do it the old-fashioned way, have human interaction? Tell someone this is what I want to watch, give them the cash, and you get your ticket; voilà, not difficult. So as I begin to politely voice this to my assistant, again, much to my fellas' disapproval, he leaves; I develop a queue which appears to irritate my kind cinema attendant, so he offers to do it for me. This pleases my fella and the kids, so they return, gradually pushing me out of the way.

After his finger zips round the screen at one hundred miles an hour about twenty different options later, he says, “That’s £93.00, you just tap your card there.”

The colour drains from my face. My voice going twelve octaves higher, replies, “How much?”

Bo looks at me, very rare do I get that look. “Just go and stand there and say nothing.”

I go to argue back, but he is ready; he cuts me off, “Zip it, or we leave” he is not joking. The attendant looks at me and smiles, “Thank you, sir.”

We finally have the tickets and go over to get the popcorn, only to be told you have to order it on the screens. Well, my arms go up in the air, and I open my mouth to start my rant all over again. Bo gets my arm and leads me outside, tells the kids to make sure I don’t move until he gets back. They stand there in their best karate pose, waiting for me to move. He comes back with popcorn in hand and tells the kids to come on; they go in to find their seats whilst I trail behind like a naughty school kid.

A person sits on the street in the evening, bundled in warm clothing, with a sign and a cup, highlighting the struggle of risking homelessness amid urban life and entertainment-driven expenses.

I can see why it cost £93.00. I admit it has been a while since we have been to the cinema and I did not expect the seats. The seats are like those fancy recliner massage chairs with cup holders. I am silently impressed; they go forward and backwards, your legs come up, and they lie down, which you had to do because everyone was reclined to the max. This, I thought, was terrible; yes, they were comfy, but if you are anything like my fella you should not recline that much for that long.

He bloody fell asleep.

Gutted.

So after extremely expensive cinema tickets.

He missed it.

So in the end we had to wait for it to be released on Prime TV.

Should have waited.

Never again.