Slurps, burps and bleeps: P.R. Whittle on the misery of being surrounded by slobs in theatres and cinemas.(Column)

Publication: Spectator

Publication Date: 23-JUL-05

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COPYRIGHT 2005 The Spectator Ltd. (UK)

A few months back I left a performance of Vera Drake emotionally drained. As the lights came up I felt a mixture of indignation, suppressed anger and loathing for the injustices human beings inflict on each other. It took a couple of stiff glasses to settle me down.

Unfortunately it wasn't the abortion theme in Mike Leigh's drama which had brought this on, or Imelda Staunton's quivering performance. It was rather that I had just endured two hours of sitting next to a slob who had loudly munched his way through two bags of popcorn. With legs sprawled and eyes fixed emotionlessly on the screen, he could have been channel-surfing in a hotel room. His hand went robotically from bag to mouth, the motion unaffected by any of the movie's highs or lows. Caught in the corner of my eye, this monotonous action was like an irritating eyelash obscuring my vision. Discreet attempts at registering disapproval--subtle coughs and sideways glances--failed to have the desired impact. He was utterly, noisily oblivious to my discomfort, and he mined the film for me.

As antisocial behaviour goes, this was hardly...

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