Subscribe | UPI Odd Newsletter Subscribe HOLLYWOOD, July 25 (UPI) -- Filmmakers and studios are their own worst enemies, scaring customers away from the box office with "coming attractions." It's true -- big shots who produce 300 movies a year and more should be forced (at gun-point if necessary) to sit in any multiplex theater with the public and take notes. Advertisement They would see and hear shocked patrons, mainly adults and especially seniors who sit through the half-dozen or more coming attractions that precede the principal movie. The first thing their senses register is a thunderclap of sound from THX or whatever sound system the theater employs that freezes the audience in its seats. The decibels are so overwhelming they numb all other sensibilities for several seconds. Peoples' eyes blur over as the crash, clash and rumble of sound effects wash over the auditorium like an immense tsunami rolling through the area unimpeded from the Hawaiian Islands. Advertisement The roar blots out all thoughts save personal survival. Children clap their hands over their ears in terror, old folks throw their ear trumpets to the floor or rip hearing aids from their heads and shudder. The reverberating, all encompassing noise explodes with the force of a hurricane or typhoon, as cowering ticket-buyers huddle down in their seats awaiting execution by a runaway tornado. Popcorn containers erupt their contents spewing over-salted, butter-soggy kernels into the air, almost obscuring the screen in a flurry of snow-like frenzy. Mixed into this detonation of sound is the racket of drink cartons and their icy contents splashing on the floor and often onto the seat in front of the customer. The screen is partially obscured by some patrons leaping to their feet in fright. The sound is overwhelming because it is what the idiots who design the systems call "wraparound" or "360-degree sound," with amplifiers encircling the entire auditorium. There is no escape. Those first few moments are akin to finding oneself sitting in the front row of a rock concert held in a pup-tent. If the audience survives this first assault, it is astonished to see on the screen -- the sound making the dialogue unintelligible -- that they are watching a tender love scene. Advertisement The overwhelming aural nightmare accompanying the hugging and kissing is as appropriate as an atomic explosion in Madonna's boudoir, better make that Nicole Kidman's boudoir. No matter the stars or graphic beauty of the scene being huckstered on screen, the overall reaction to the reverberating chaos will convince at least half the audience to cancel plans to see the film. Only the extremely hard of hearing, and of course stone-deaf patrons, will consider seeing the picture. Now if this cataclysmic encounter doesn't discourage the customers, the next "attraction" will. The sound system crackles and ratchets up the decibels to loosen acoustic tiles in the ceiling and unhinge customers frightened by the rattling of metallic fillings in their teeth. In the midst of this calamitous cacophony the screen switches to Mike Myers and Mini-Me in a deafening maniacal action sequence from "Austin Powers in Goldmember." Terrified babies scream at the top of their lungs in unheard protest as distraught mothers hustle them up the aisles for the nearest exit, vowing never to come to a theater again. Disapproving conversations can almost be heard over the dreadful din as patrons tell their mates they will avoid the Myers film as they would an earthquake. Advertisement But the dolts who assemble the coming attractions -- called "trailers" in the trade -- are just getting warmed up. Their next offering is "Eight Legged Freaks." Oh, God! One would swear World War III had broken loose and the theater is ground zero. A sound that defies analysis detonates simultaneously from the lobby to the proscenium, beneath the floor and above the ceiling. The theater literally quakes from the accumulation of sonic waves, giving moviegoers a blanket case of St. Vitus Dance accompanied by runaway palsy. The screen is invaded by hairy-legged monsters who look as if they'd intimidate King Kong and eat Godzilla for breakfast. The sound track swells to the boom of kettle drums capable of surpassing the eruption of Krakatoa. The palsied, benumbed audience is shocked to senseless immobility, mistaken for mesmerized fascination by filmmakers gauging audience reactions. "We got 'em," enthuses the Warner Bros. marketing chief. "This picture will beat 'Stuart Little' on admissions. "Maybe," says the studio's head of production. "But I think we should goose up the sound and pad out our media ads to compare 'Eight Legged Freaks' with 'Jurassic Park'." "Maybe we could bulk up our print campaign by adding 'TWO THUMBS UP!'" Advertisement His boss cups a hand to his ear and hollers, "How's that again? I can't hear a word!"
