Fresno, come on now.
Anthony W. Haddad
The Millennial View
There are few places left in modern life where we all agree to behave. The airplane? A lost cause. The grocery store? Depends on the aisle and if someone takes the extra 10 seconds to put their cart away. But the movie theater — that dark, sticky-floored sanctuary where we collectively suspend reality for two hours — used to be one of them. Or so I thought.
I still think back to when my dad used to take my brothers and me to the movies. Not because he was desperate to see the latest release, but because it doubled as his only chance to nap. The theater was simply a dark, quiet refuge, before the plush recliners, where an overworked father could disappear for two hours while his kids stayed happily entertained.
Over Thanksgiving weekend, I bought a ticket to “Wicked: For Good.” This is not a review of the film. This is a review of the audience, it’s on my fellow Fresnans, who, by the end of the night, made me question whether we as a society are still capable of communal experiences.
Just Enjoy the Moment
I knew going in that this was a “theater kid” event. I braced myself accordingly. Maybe some humming. Maybe a little whispered excitement when Ariana Grande floated into her scene via bubble. But the first off-key voice belting along (not even sincerely, just trying to get a laugh from their friends) should’ve been my sign that I was not watching a movie so much as participating in a social experiment.
Yes, many viewers already know the plot of Wicked. But that shouldn’t give anyone permission to narrate the movie out loud, predict every twist, or spoil scenes as if they’re giving a TED Talk on The Land of Oz.
Then came the clapping. Not polite, appreciative clapping. This was competitive clapping. Two people at opposite ends of the theater appeared locked in a “who can applaud louder?” duel after every musical number. The movie was nearly two-and-a-half hours long. By the end, I felt like I’d accidentally wandered into an Olympic event.
We need to address something else, too: performative commentary. Somewhere along the way, people started treating the movie theater like open mic night. Every joke delivered loudly enough for strangers to hear. Every sexual innuendo fired like a flare gun. Every whispered “fun fact” about the plot delivered with the confidence of someone who thinks they’re enhancing the cinematic art form. Please, Hollywood did not spend $150 million on production design so you could audition for America’s Got Commentary.
Then there are the glowing screens, those tiny blue rectangles that somehow feel brighter inside a theater than the sun itself. Look, I understand that we live in a world where parents need to be reachable and date nights sometimes require coordination. But there is a vast difference between quietly checking a message and illuminating the entire row like you’re performing a lighthouse reenactment. At one point, a phone rang three seats away from me, followed by the unforgettable line: “Hello, I am in a movie!” The irony echoed louder than the ringtone.
And the snack theatrics, my God. Popcorn is meant to be eaten, not excavated like an archeological dig. I’m all for enjoying concessions, but the combination of open-mouth chewing, bag crinkling, and bucket-deep diving had me reconsidering whether movie theaters should issue noise complaints the way Fresno authorities do.
Has Short Form Content Ruined Us?
What struck me most that night wasn’t just the lack of etiquette. It was the unwillingness, or maybe the inability, to simply sit in a room with other people and let something unfold. This makes me believe that the Instagram Reels, YouTube Shorts, and TikToks have permanently ruined our ability to sit through something longer than 30 seconds.
Yes, many viewers already know the plot of Wicked. But that shouldn’t give anyone permission to narrate the movie out loud, predict every twist, or spoil scenes as if they’re giving a TED Talk on The Land of Oz. We’re allowed to sit in silence. We’re allowed to live inside a moment without proving how much we know.
When you zoom out, this isn’t really about a movie theater, it’s about a larger cultural shift. The slow erosion of shared spaces where we once agreed to act like human beings. If we can’t manage basic courtesy in a dark room for two hours, how are we supposed to navigate everything else? The roads, the parks, the schools, the voting booths?
So yes, Fresno, come on now. We can do better. Movie theaters are one of the last places where we’re asked to do something beautifully simple: Sit down, be quiet, and allow ourselves, and everyone around us, the rare gift of escape.
If we can’t respect each other there, what chance do we have anywhere else?
About the Author
Anthony W. Haddad writes The Millennial View, offering a reflective perspective on life, politics, and culture through the lens of a Millennial navigating today’s world. He examines local issues, social trends, and national debates with clarity, humor, and a critical eye, aiming to spark thoughtful conversation and inspire change.
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