Today's robbery isn't onscreen

By David Wertime

When I think about last summer, I remember romances with beautiful women, warm weather, and gun battles. No, I did not tutor at a Los Angeles-area public high school. I spent those glorious summer months in our own Elm City. My memories were made possible only through the most indirect of connections with the City of Angels: Hoyts 12 Cinema in Branford, Conn.

With stadium seating, 12 screens, and a wide array of tasty snacks, Hoyts 12 provides everything a moviegoer could possibly desire. In fact, only two things keep me away from the theater right now: crowded parking lots and high prices. The first can be solved with a creative interpretation of Connecticut state traffic law, but the second obstacle is a great deal more difficult to sidestep.

Unlike a residential college dining hall or the House of Representatives, Hoyts 12 does not guarantee entry to anyone flashing a Yale ID. Throughout Connecticut, and even the nation, movie ticket prices are becoming so expensive that comparative shopping is a thing of the past. And now the worst part: ticket prices are officially being raised again.

If the names Loews, Cineplex Odeon, or Sony Theatres sound familiar, consider yourself a victim. All three theaters have instituted price increases, effective immediately, that set the average ticket price at $7.50 to $8.50 per person. In Manhattan, it gets as high as $9.50. In nearby New Jersey, where no one has anything to do, I'd wager tickets cost four times that amount.

What, you ask, is a movie-starved individual to do? Loews has already taken proactive steps to address this problem by issuing a statement: "In comparison to other entertainment ticket prices, moviegoing is still the most economical entertainment option." This is a bald-faced lie. Where I come from, five bucks still gets you bleacher seats to watch the Philadelphia Phillies get clobbered, $1.50 lets you ride the subway for as long as you want, and tickets to next year's Pennsylvania junior high school spelling bee championship can still be had for a song.

Movies are certainly not the only entertainment possibility out there, nor are they the cheapest. So what keeps us coming back? It certainly isn't the atmosphere; the only thing distinguishing one theater from another is the relative stickiness of the nasty concrete floors. And no one can argue that movie theaters are a good place to meet people. After all, the only heated contact you have is with the guy in the Subaru who gives you the finger for stealing his parking spot.

Odd as it is, the key to our enjoyment of movies might be the complete lack of interpersonal interaction. Every moviegoer wishes for a theater where no one else can be heard or seen. Outlandish special effects destroy any pretense of reality. And even if the movie is low-budget, at least the actors look pretty, keep their noses out of our business, and never overstay their welcome.

But the allure of cinema is also its downfall. If movies stave off reality during the show, they hit us over the head with it before and after. We wince at paying the exorbitant entrance fee and later wonder why we paid so much for a movie that in all likelihood sucked. Even for sickeningly rich sons and daughters of Eli, moviegoing begs a complete reevaluation of our financial priorities. In an effort to solidify their monopoly, Loews, Cineplex, and Sony have made life even more stressful for us poor and disenfranchised youth.

Perhaps the Hollywood moguls have a reason. The less we are able to go to the theater, the more special the experience seems. If anything, our shared struggle will unify us. Our common memory of excesses past will keep us close until the next half-decent flick comes out; then, as always, we'll pile in the car, head over to Hoyts, shell out another 10 bucks, sit back, and for two hours forget all about each other.

David Wertime is a sophomore in Morse.

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