The burly security guard steps to the front of the theater. He's not trained in public speaking, but he's got size, a deep voice and a friendly manner that work for him in this setting. He welcomes the audience to the promotional screening of tonight's movie, then tells them about the rules everyone must follow.
Mostly it's about courtesy: Take screaming babies out to the lobby, for example. But the main reason he's here is to reiterate the policy about cellphones in the theater. It's a simple policy: Use a cellphone, whether it's to call or send text or use it as a flashlight, and you're out.
The rationale is that a cameraphone could be used to record images from the movie - images that could be uploaded onto the Internet and disseminated to the world. With that announcement, a roomful of people who picked up free tickets at the Wienerschnitzel have been thrust into Hollywood's war against movie piracy. And, like our ongoing war against terrorism, it's a war against an unseen and shadowy enemy - and it's largely being fought on the wrong front.
I'm often told to turn off my cellphone before entering a screening. Occasionally I've been asked to leave my cellphone in my car. Sometimes my bookbag is searched.
Metal-detector wands have passed over my body, and my movements during the show watched by guards wearing night-vision The burly security guard steps to the front of the theater.
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