Or is that, "theatre," as a number of Broadway pretenders insist on saying? Sounds unduly British to me. Something you say over crumpets and your favourite poetry. What the Duke of Wellington longed for in his makeshift bivouac on the frosty Flemish frontier.
It’s such a great way to meet new people. When you’re precariously balanced atop a plush movie seat cushion caked with gum, candy and decades of popcorn grease (can you believe it’s not butter?), with each substance buried deep into the fraying upholstery while engaged in a wild, shrieking frenzy right as the opening credits roll, you’re pretty much guaranteed to find a friend. Fire is a cry for fun.
And you don’t even need a megaphone. How about the silence that only helps you make your point? The unearned respect most people give to movies makes little sense. The actors aren’t there to be offended, spitting and stammering their way through excessively expository colloquies. When that’s the case, I understand the reluctance to disturb people right to their faces. Not to mention how ponchos still aren’t considered proper theatergoing garb, despite the obvious saliva risk for the front row.
It’s the kind of political activism that anyone can support. There are no required texts, no homework. You’re not really trying to finish an argument. You’re just yelling cause you like yelling.
It’s a classic for a reason. There are those who’d like to see cinematic disruptors yell things like "Heyoo," "Atta baby, Atta boy" or "Steve? I can't see you. Where are you sitting?" But there’s no history behind these particular phrases. They’re not ingrained in the culture. The Supreme Court never discussed them.
It’s exhilarating to get caught up in a Pamplonan-level stampede, but without all those meddlesome bulls. Yes, the occasional unsecured selfie stick, jutting out of a person’s backpack has potential to do serious harm. But it’s nothing like a horn. So you lose a couple a teeth. It happens. You were probably going to lose them anyway, given your steady diet of bonbons and king size colas over the years.
Have you ever yelled "fire" in an empty theater? It’s just not the same. Sure, there’s inherent joy in yelling – why else would I do it on the highway mid-traffic, the beach mid-wave or the diner mid-meal? But the acoustics of most so-called suburban cineplexes are such that there’s always a mindless ticket stub taker at the ready to run in at the slightest unusual noise, saying, “sir, is everything okay in here?” Well, it was.
I appreciate chants that begin, “Can I get an F?” A serious question for a serious person. Sometimes, there’s actually a fire. Maybe the concession kid got a little too greedy with the butter and set the whole stand ablaze. In these rare, but important instances I’m hailed (or is it heralded?) as a bona fide (or is it bonafide?) hero. By the time the fire department arrives, the screen's torched and the rows are adding to the conflagration. But these situations are exceedingly rare.
Ever heard of an amphitheater? Oh yeah, remember those? In Ancient Greece, it was not unusual for resourceful patrons to roast a few cocktail wienies for the Gods in the aisles while the actors up front frantically tried to remove an ugly wine stain from a rental toga. What? Did you really think tailgating was invented in State College, Pennsylvania? The cries of "fire" in environments like this are akin to howls of joy. In the open air, there’s no risk of smoke inhalation. The worst thing that happens is the haze creates a mild obstruction in certain corners of the venue. You're doing them a favor though. If Oedipus himself couldn’t bear to see the ending, then why should the audience?
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