A short autistic pause to evoke this time a rocambolesque situation linked to my rigidity regarding rules—especially those in movie theaters—which are nevertheless displayed in huge letters with icons on a blue background in the UGC cinemas I go to, just before the film starts. Namely: avoid talking during the film, put your phone in airplane mode. For some people, these rules are apparently mere suggestions. Some of them did not see the scene I’m about to recount coming.
It’s the release of the movie Halloween, and my friend comes with me to the screening, a fan of horror films like I am. The film hasn’t even started yet when we’re already witnessing chaos inside the theater, packed with young people who have clearly never learned how to behave properly. In reality, this is common with films of this kind. Teenagers coming out of school go to the cinema to laugh with their friends and don’t care about others. I foresee the worst for the movie.
The tension rises.
My friend notices and puts her hand on mine to calm me down.
[Introduction]
The film starts. The laughter, the conversations (and even shouting) don’t stop. Worse still, phones light up at full brightness. Several phones. Some people even answer a call. Popcorn bags spill, the kids insult each other. I’ve never seen anything like it—it’s pure sensory chaos. I hesitate to call someone from the staff, but I have an internal rule: I never leave the theater. If I do, I have to come back another day to watch the missing part, a nightmare. So I sit there, defeated, hearing the popcorn crunching, people talking, and all of it pierces my ears.
[Development]
About halfway through the film, first freeze-frame: the movie becomes quieter and I take the opportunity to shout in the theater, “this isn’t a playground.” People stop talking—then resume as if nothing happened. The couple sitting right in front of us are among the few who know how to behave in society. I mention them because the man will play a role later.
The tension keeps rising.
I’m seconds away from exploding, and probably on the verge of a meltdown.
So I just endure the chaos, with my friend’s hand still resting on mine, which calms me a little—but I’m completely tense in my seat.
[Climax]
The credits roll. I decide to break another rule: I’m about to leave the theater before watching the entire credits, which heightens the tension. Why? I have the wonderful idea of wanting to slap some people (it’s a thought, obviously not something I was going to do). Then I turn back, look at my friend, I feel like I’m about to completely break down, I head for the exit again and… second freeze-frame: I open my half-full water bottle and empty it without the slightest hesitation over two young women who had been the worst audience members of the entire film. And I leave, almost without realizing the sheer excess of the gesture. My friend then hides a smile and we bolt out of the theater without saying a word.
[Blooper Reel]
Behind me, the man who had been sitting in front of us bursts out laughing and reaches out his hand for a high-five. I then realize my total breakdown and slap his hand, amused by the sheer absurdity of the situation.
In my defense, I mostly just lightly splashed those two women—I didn’t dump a bucket of water on them. They weren’t soaked.
On the way out, my friend can no longer hide her laughter. The scene left such an impression on her that she kept bringing it up in the years that followed.
Moral of the story
The autistic moment isn’t so much the action itself (even if it can be, since it’s tied to impulsivity) as the causes that lead to this completely absurd conclusion. Not respecting the rules in a movie theater means risking an encounter with an angry Flo who comes up with regularly creative solutions (and not always very effective ones).
To my readers who are annoyed too: the water bottle is therefore a particularly formidable weapon that solves absolutely nothing—but is quite amusing.
The longest film ever screened in a movie theater is the film Logistics, an experimental movie that lasts for 35 days and 17 hours ! I wonder how many spectators eventually snapped… and used their water bottles.