Grumpy old iMark

Every so often, my mother and I find ourselves at odds over a variety of different issues. Nothing major, nothing of any great significance - but when it happens I'm always struck by how unlike each other we can, despite the many similarities a casual observer would not doubt... um, observe. One example which always springs readily to mind, is that she is something of a sun-worshipper. Even the smallest shaft of sunlight edging through the clouds is grounds enough for her to break out the sun-lounger, regardless of what the weather may actually be like. Sleet, snow, rain and fog are no barrier I promise. This is not a point of view I share. I like sunshine, or at least I've come to like it - I wasn't much of a fan of it in my youth, largely, I suspect, because it meant being turfed out of the house to play. Or worse, taken to the beach. My mother cannot abide people spending time indoors on a bright summers day. For my part, I steadfastly believe that fun isn't fun when it's forced upon you.

So today was an overly sunshiny day, and I naturally avowed to spend as little time in daylight as possible. It would be a good day, I decided, to trek along the cool cloistered confines of the local cinema to catch a film I'd wanted to se for some time now, namely M. Night Shyamalan’s The Village. I'd furiously resisted reading reviews of the film, since M. Night is now infamous for his twisty turny plots and I do so love surprises. Of course, having said that, I also think he's in danger of typecasting himself as a Hitchcock-wannabe. He's a fine director, and he wrings some admirable performances out of his cast - Bryce Dallas Howard in particular - but I would like to see him try another writers material.

The problem with The Village is that the film loses it's way quite badly after the big reveal. All the tension, which had been so expertly constructed and maintained, evaporated in an instant, and characters who'd previously seemed so strong, were left looking weak and foolish. It also commits a cardinal sin of leaving plot threads dangling, some of which promised to add meaning to the story. Leaving these unexplored (what is Lucius' colour, for example) also marks much of the earlier part of the film as largely irrelevant. Lest I seem too harsh, it's still a film I'd recommend as an entertaining piece of fiction, albeit one that doesn't stand up to much scrutiny.

But in the end, my reaction to the film itself wasn't so memorable as my reaction to the audience, or more specifically to the group of 4 teenage boys sitting about three rows behind me. Why on earth they'd decided to watch this film was beyond me, since it completely failed to capture their attention. Instead, they chattered, giggled and laughed their way through the first hour of the film, despite several people behind them shushing them - to no avail. I'll admit I was somewhat frustrated by this, but, being as I am, I put with it as best I could. The popcorn fight, however, was the final straw.

I should elaborate that the reason I hadn't done anything to this point is that I find it difficult to initiate any form of confrontation - but particularly those involving bawdy teenagers. The few (which is to say extremely rare) occasions when I'd ever attempted such didn't go well for me. It's a task requiring a particular gravitas I've always imagined myself to lack. However, I'm not as I once was - I'll hazard that my self confidence is higher than it used to be, and I'm not unaware of the fact that I'm now considerably more physically imposing (all that time in the gym had to be good for something). I spent a few minutes considering those times I'd watched others successfully quell a group of rowdy teenagers, the most memorable of which an old man who brought a gaggle of girls to heel on a train once, with little more than a stern look and few softly spoken words. My circumstances were somewhat different, but I imagined the underlying principles would be broadly similar. As far as I could remember, the key appeared to be intimidation. Not a skill I've ever tried to develop, but I nevertheless thought I might as well give it a try.

Having decided on a course of action, I stood up, turned around, fixed my eye on one of the boys and slowly threaded my way around until I reached them. I then leaned over them, doing my level best to loom, and said, in a low voice: "Be quiet, or I will have you thrown out of here." I added in a quiet growl: "Do you understand me?" Four pairs of eyes widened in the darkness of the theatre and four heads silently bobbed up and down in front of me. The lad nearest me even quietly issued an apology. I returned to my seat, grateful for the ensuing silence which thankfully lasted 'til the end of the film, whilst feeling guilty about having deliberately intimidated a group of children.

As soon as the film finished and the credits started to roll, the boys ran out of the theatre at a fair clip. I think they were scared of me. Me! What's my world coming to?