Yes, I understand that people have different thresholds for viewing violence, and that while a movie like, say, “Halloween,” may still scare the bejeezus out of me, certain second graders will simply be amused by the funny man in the mask who just won’t die. But that still doesn’t mean they belong in the movie theater.
I went to see the fifth Harry Potter film last week, and to my shock there was a virtual daycare in the row behind me. OK, so it was just one mother with three kids, but the children were all under 4, and as any parent knows, the amount of noise a child will generate is inversely proportionate to the child’s age.
At first, I merely considered their presence in the theater startlingly inappropriate. My children are 10, and I don’t think they should see HP #5. As a matter of fact, neither do they. When invited by friends to attend an opening night show, they both declined before I had even considered using my maternal veto power, saying that while they’d read the book, they thought the movie would probably be a bit too intense for them. Ten points to Gryffindor for self-awareness! And 20 points from Slytherin for the mother who decided that bringing three toddlers to the film was a good idea.
Inappropriateness of the material aside, these kids were too young even to sit still for more than 10 minutes. Their mother tried to buy their silence with food, but that only resulted in dropped sippy-cups bouncing to the front of the theater and copious amounts of spilled popcorn being trampled like bubble wrap as the children shuffled back and forth, switching seats and asking if it was time to go.
When they were paying attention to the movie, they were confused at best, as evidenced by them continually asking — LOUDLY — about every minor plot point of the film. Each moment of tension was interrupted by calls of, “Mom! What’s that owl doing?” and “Why is that boy bleeding?”
I tried to be patient. I tried to be kind. I even tried to make up excuses for the mother in question. “She’s a stressed-out single-mom who can’t afford a babysitter and needed to get out of the house,” I told myself over and over, but I just couldn’t let her off the hook.
“Excuse me,” I said, twisting around in my seat about an hour into the film, but she refused to make eye contact, choosing instead to stare over my head, clenching her jaw and ignoring me. What I had wanted to say was, “There’s at least another hour left in this film. Do you think your children will make it?” My hope was to appear as non-judgmental as possible. I wanted to give her an out, a chance to exit with grace, but my attempts to open a whispered dialogue were rebuffed.
Exasperated (and beginning to write this column in my head), I turned back to the screen.
Ten minutes later, the mom scooped up her children and their belongings and departed. I contemplated applauding, but that would have just been mean.
Needless to say, the second hour of the movie was infinitely more enjoyable than the first, and while I still don’t want to tell anyone how to parent, I would like to make a request. If you want to see a film and you’re not sure it’s appropriate for your child, either go to a drive-in or wait for the video. That way, your sippy cups and disruptions will remain in your space, and my $9 admission fee and the second mortgage I’ve taken out in order to buy popcorn won’t feel like a waste of money. (Come to think of it, maybe I’ll just get the video next time.)
Belinda Ray is a homeschooling mother and freelance writer who finds time to write when her children and their friends have lightsaber battles in the yoga room (but only if the laundry is already folded and everyone’s been fed).