I saw The Hunger Games: Catching Fire Thursday night. Technically Friday was opening day, but anymore, you can catch premieres the night before and that’s what I did. I had the idea that if I went to a later show on a Thursday, I might be able to avoid the crowds of ‘tweens and teens.
You can laugh now.
So I saw this movie in a theater full of ‘tweens and teens, many in large groups (i.e. they came together in groups). Stuffed with ’em. and I think I was probably the oldest person in there (shut up) and the only person who had come alone. And, as expected, before anything got started, everybody was yakking and texting and Facebooking and whatever the hell else people do these days because god forbid you actually stop using your smartphone for a few seconds (don’t get me started) and engage with the people SITTING RIGHT NEXT TO YOU.
They continued to talk (albeit more quietly) during the previews, which were geared toward this Hunger Games crowd. Young, hip, beautiful people in movies like the forthcoming Vampire Academy (okay, so I want to see it and yes, it’s based on a book) and what looks like a cool dystopic take on Frankenstein.
And then the movie began. I was kind of dreading it at this point, because I was young, once, and I remember being an asshat every now and again at the movies, so I braced myself to try to ignore whatever asshattery would erupt from the surrounding crowd of moviegoers in which the average age was probably fifteen.
Surprise, surprise. Every single person in that theater was thoroughly engaged by this movie. We laughed at the humor, exclaimed at the things that were awful to watch, and at the end we applauded. All those ‘tweens and teens then set to work talking to each other about the movie and the book on which it was based. And, I’m sure, texting all their friends to tell them to totally see the movie.
And it got me thinking about stories.