The Balcony is Closed

The following was originally posted September 25, 2009, at http://www.parentclick.com/BlogPost.html?id=1256:

While I've been trucking Riley to the movies since he was 6 months old ("March or the Penguins" was his unofficial first, a matinee screening that lasted about a half-hour before the movie started, through the trailers, and the title card, at which time he started screaming. We ducked out the door immediately), I've been hesitant to take Jenna. She's a bit more squirmy, a bit less shy socially (and therefore less apt to care if anyone sees her being loud), and being only 2 years old, she's less receptive to whispered pleas to hush.

Not that we haven't taken her before. She's been to several movies (her first: the Jerry Seinfeld animated flick "Bee Movie," the first and last that she paid much attention to to date), but all were with Crystal there to take her out when necessary (my former job as a movie critic gave me a convenient excuse of "I'm working," meaning I couldn't leave the theater and forcing her to take her out. This also worked when they had to use the bathroom).

So I was a little understandably nervous taking both Riley AND Jenna alone to see "Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs," the new animated film from Sony.

Crystal's mom has been in the hospital, and she wanted to a relatively unemcumbered visit on a Sunday afternoon, so I decided to drop her off with Mason and give the kids a shot at the cinema.

Taking a child of, say, under 5 to a movie is a challenge that some people say, for the sake of the audience, parents should not take on. Posh, I say, given the proper movie. Theater etiquette explicitly states that at a kids movie a moviegoer should expect a little more rambunctiousness from other patrons, so I've never been nervous about imparting my love of the big screen on them.

It always helps when the theater isn't full, though, and we were blessed in that regard (an earlier attempt to catch the movie in Noblesville was quashed with the film sold out; in the downtown Circle Centre theater, where presumably fewer children reside, there were about 10 other people).

So we entered the theater, I armed with gummi bears and two booster seats, scant moments before the movie started. We got sat down and I laid down the ground rules: we're here to see the movie, and no one wants to hear you being all loud. So no talking. If you need to say something to me, whisper.

It took Jenna about 10 minutes to violate my edicts, blurting out a loud, "Daddy, I gotta poop!," which is Jen's standard line for "I'm bored, and want to get up," and rarely means "Daddy, I gotta poop." I shushed her and told her we'd go later, and pointed back to the screen.

Riley was engrossed in the tale, where an inventor maligned by his sardine-soaked town invents a device that turns water to food. When an accident shoots his device into the sky, havoc breaks loose as cheeseburgers, pies, jello molds, and, yes, spaghetti and meatballs, rain from the sky.

Jenna seemed to be enjoying the movie, but was still willing to get up and move around a little. Still, she was being relatively good given the circumstances. She had taken to sitting on my lap and flopping around, and laying her head back into the aisle. When she was sitting she'd turn around and try to get the attention of other moviegoers.

Still, there were no real incidents.

Then, during the movie's climax, Jenna decided she wanted to sit on the seat rather than the plastic booster I provided. She stood up and pulled the faux seat off the chair and it clattered loudly as it hit the painted cement. She got up and stood facing the rear of her chair, and promptly slid into the space between the seat cushion and seat back. The seat popped up, trapping her inside the chair.

She shrieked.

I grabbed her immediately and tried pulling her out, but her feet caught on the seat back, and she screamed louder. I finally, my face reddening, reached in and turned her feet and pulled her out. I hugged her and pulled her face into my shoulder, muffling most of her sobs. Riley gave her a bemused look: "amateur," he no doubt was thinking.

The movie ended moments later, and while there were no comments or even nasty looks that I noticed, I still quickly shuttled my two oldest out of the theater and vacated.

A good theatrical experience, all told. One small incident, but both of the kids were on their best behavior for the most part. Would my fellow moviegoers agree? Probably not.

Will I try it again in the near future? You betcha.