Dear bitches at the 8:30 p.m., July 5, showing of Superman Returns at the United Artists Union Square Stadium 14,
The Transom arrives early to a film, particularly one that is sure to be sold out, because it likes to sit where it likes to sit: third row, on the aisle. Perhaps you, instead, like to arrive tardy with your hippy boyfriend—even if then, during the previews, you can’t find two seats together (except, God forbid, in the front row, which admittedly was a little eyeball-searing even for us close-up freaks).
What do you do then—suck it up and sit separately? Buy tickets for a later showing? Or ask the one single person there to give up his seat?
Is your relationship so apparently shortlived that you can’t miss sitting together for 157 minutes?
Furthermore, yes, you have proven it is actually worse to place cellphone calls during the film than it is to receive them. What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you not part of society? Does your narcissism make you some sort of uber-man?