Someone Was In the Mood for Love and it Wasn't Me

I wandered over slowly, bought my ticket and stepped into the theater. Parisians may or may not be familiar with this miniscule cinema, holding about 50 or 60 seats. The entrance is directly off the street, which I realized as I walked in is something I have never experienced before. Cinemas always feel like they are down in basements or hidden in back corners, but this one was right there : one step, you're off the sidewalk, another you're in front of the door, and another, you're in the cinema. Kinda kooky, really.

I was the first one to show up, and I sat square in the middle, two seats in from the aisle so that I could leave the seat on my right for my coat.

A young guy in his 20's, tall and handsome besides the fact that he was wearing shorts, walked in. I was glad to see hiim because I was a little worried that I would be the only person in the theater, or that even worse, the other person would be a sketchball. Young Handsome Guy looked normal, and I found his presence reassuring rather than worrisome. It's always a risk when you go to these rinky-dink theaters for random afternoon showings.

Seconds later, the film started, and I settled back in my seat. The cinema used one of those old style projectors that made the clack-clack-clack noise as the wheel turned, and left scratch marks up on the screen. Honestly, I don't believe I have seen a film like that since Ms. Orlyn showed us solar system and sex education movies in fifth grade. Somehow the turning sound of the machine went well with the ambiance in the hole-in-the-wall theater, and it even complimented the film in a rather quaint way.

All was fine and well, and I was enjoying the movie immensely. I always forget how much I love foreign - and by foreign I mean anything not American, British, French or Australian - cinema. And for some reason I always see blockbusters with friends, whereas the quiet, foreign films I tend to go to on my own. It's more pleasant that way, I feel. "In the Mood for Love" was turning out to be no exception.

But then halfway through, a new guy opened the door. A burst of sunlight and the sounds of traffic came in with him, and I couldn't help but wonder if he had paid his entrance or not (there's a little window in front of the door to the cinema, but when I first swung by and checked the movie times, nobody was there. In other words, the entrance to the movies is not exactly patrolled, and as long as not seeing the entire film is ok by you, you could technically walk into either of the two movie theaters without being stopped). The guy stood at the entrance for a moment, I suppose allowing his eyes to adjust, and then took a seat two rows behind me.

Weird, I thought, but thought little else.

Until he got up and sat next to me.

(About twenty minutes in, I had gotten extremely cold and had put my coat on, leaving the seat next to me emtpy. He chose to take it.)

Now remember. There is me, a young guy about four rows in front of me, and this new guy. Something just felt off. Of all the places to sit, you should never choose the seat right next to the young girl alone in the cinema. You just shouldn't. There were rows and rows of empty seats, plenty of seats along the aisles, at least five smack-in-the-middle-of-the-theater possibilities.

But no. The weirdo always has to sit next to me.

I love going to movies by myself, but I always have a moment of paranoia that I am going to get stuck sitting next to some old guy that likes to put his hands on strangers' knees. Or maybe some creepazoid who likes to tangle his legs up in those of the girl next to him, and then chalk it up to accident when she looks at him crossly or makes some move to call him out on it.

Or, as the case may be, it might be some fuckwad who likes to jerk off in the middle of a somber, beautiful Chinese movie about love. Or so I'm guessing.

So this guy sits next to me and my heart starts pounding. What the fuck is this freak thinking? You don't just sit next to someone in an empty theater. That's just not something you do. I tell myself to calm down, to stop being so paranoid, that I was overreacting. And by this point five minutes of the film have gone by and I have hardly even realized what has been happening on screen. I look over at the guy and he is looking right at me. And I notice that his jacket it on his lap, his left hand under his jacket. And he's just staring.

And I decide, you know what, I might be a paranoid freak, but normal people don't just sit down in a seat next to a girl seeing a movie alone on a Thursday afternoon and then STARE AT HER. And in the end, I don't really care if this guy thinks I am a paranoid wacko, because I certainly think that he's an absolute freak and that's enough of a reason for me to avoid him if I can.

So I move down a seat. Really, the options in that theater are rather slim as there is only one way of exiting the row (the other side has no aisle, it backs right up to the wall), which he has managed to block. He glances up at the screen, perhaps a bit surprised by my manoever, but it's not long before he's back to staring at me.

By now I'm not even enjoying the movie. And I'm afraid to try and get out of the row because God only knows what this guy will do as I try to leave. I'm having visions of him grabbing my ass or making me sit on his lap. Meanwhile, he keeps covering his mouth from his right arm, biting down on his sleeve to suppress any sort of noise he's going to make. Any sort of yelp, I'm assuming. It's at this point I decide he really is jerking off, and I literally want to hit the guy.

(It's about now that I remember how thankful I am that I am not alone in the theater. One person can make all the difference.)

Luckily, he suddenly bolts out of the front of the cinema and heads to the bathroom. I'm not even going to question what his interests were in going there, although I think it is by now quite clear.

I snag the opportunity and squeeze out of my row, taking the first seat in a little seperate side row with only two chairs that is right next to the exit. I hurriedly put my coat and purse down on the seat next to me. Pleased with my change of scenery, I watch the rest of the film in peace.

The guy comes back after about a minute and a half and looks around dumbly, realizing I have left the row. He sits back down and watches about three more minutes of the film before getting up again and leaving out the back exit for good.

Obviously, he hadn't come to watch a movie. Unfortunately, I had.

This Saturday, I'm going to head out after my morning class to see a movie I have been waiting to see for the last three years. It's a documentary on Noam Chomsky, and I haven't been able to get my hands on it. By miracle, it is showing in Paris. I don't know how many Chomsky fans there are in this city, but I'd be willing to bet that the film will show in another small, grungy theater with only a few people in the audience, in a similar situation as today. I just hope that it being a Saturday will attract a few more people to the theater.

I'm taking today's tiny-theater/weirdo-in-the-audience experience as a freak event. I'm not going to let it stop me from seeing afternoon movies by myself. I am, however, going to consider strategic seating each time I enter a new theater, and am going to think twice about being the first one in there. My new rule: at least three people in the theater at all times.

So after today, I'm a little more sketched out. But still, I'm not going to give up seeing this documentary. NOBODY better fuck up my happiness at finally being able to see this film.

Then again, maybe I am just misinterpreting how much sex appeal Noam has.