As they sift through the remains, future generations are going to find a lot more questions than answers about how 21st century civilisation worked. But when they discover discarded chicken wing bones in the remains of our cinemas, one thing will be abundantly clear: this is where it all fell apart.
The cinema was the last place on Earth where magic still existed. But it’s a delicate magic, one that’s predicated on working together. Turning off our phones; staying in our seats; not discussing spoilers; and ultimately agreeing that hot meals came before or after the movie. It’s dinner and a movie, not dinner with a movie.
We also had plenty of snacks that didn’t detract from the magic. Some snacks, like a boysenberry choc top, even added to the magic.
In an effort to encourage audiences away from the comfort of streaming in their living rooms, the whimsy has been removed from the experience. This is how the world will end, not with a bang but with the pungent whiff of another moviegoer’s four-cheese arancini with roasted garlic aioli, reheated behind the box office alongside the steak sandwiches, cheeseburger sliders and steamed prawn har gow.
Cinemas are designed to dull various senses and help facilitate a flattening of the brain hierarchy. When we work together, cinemas allow us to escape our actual surroundings and become more attuned to the environment we’re watching. Nothing interrupts this crucial process quite like the unsolicited sensory assault of deep-fried meats. Nor the inconvenience of ushers stomping through to deliver the meal directly to the seat, cutlery clinking along.
By coddling to the cravings of a few, cinemas have contaminated the wonderment enjoyed by the many. We used to be a society.
