The Case for Sitting in the Dark with Strangers

One of the great joys in life is date night at the movies. The popcorn tastes better. The air-conditioning is aggressively cold. You need a hoodie, maybe even someone to huddle next to. The trailers roll, and everyone makes wisecracks about what looks great and what’s unwatchable. Sure, your screen at home has a pause button — but the whole point of a movie theater is that it doesn’t. It demands attention. The movie doesn’t wait for you.

That’s the power of the theater: you’re on its turf. But a turf war is brewing in the favor of everyone’s boogeyman: Artificial Intelligence. With Oracle and Skydance billionaires in charge of making and streaming videos, Hollywood is facing a different kind of threat.

David and Larry Ellison see Hollywood’s massive workforces not as communities of artists but as inefficiencies ripe for disruption, and their AI-driven ambitions put thousands of creative jobs on the chopping block. No studio workers or theaters needed, from AI production to AI algorithmic streaming – with Oracle’s tech muscle and Paramount’s new leadership, they’re poised to fuse Silicon Valley’s obsession with “efficiencies” to Hollywood’s dream factory. It’s a collision that could end the blockbuster era as we know it.

Reel Memories, Real Nostalgia

I used to work at a movie theater in high school. It was pure Clerks energy with rampant theft, late-night parties, zero oversight. We failed math at school and came into work to splice film reels like it was a craft show, then tested the cuts by throwing midnight screenings for our friends. When The Blair Witch Project opened (four screens, sold out), we invited everyone we knew. It was chaos. The cleaning crew hated us.

On my nights off, I’d bike to the $1.50 “cheap seats” theater just to catch Mallrats. The ride there, the anticipation, and the sheer effort of getting to the movie were all part of the experience. And now? Those memories feel even more vital in our digital, frictionless age.

Roger Ebert once wrote that movies are “a machine that generates empathy.” But it only works properly when you’re sitting in the dark with strangers. That’s how the magic happens. The theater is where we go to celebrate, to escape, to mourn. When my ex-wife told me she wanted a divorce, I went alone to see Once Upon a Time in Hollywood. I needed a space that was empty of all the stuff of daily life: just me, some strangers, and a giant glowing screen.

Now? My girlfriend and I go at least once a month. We show up early. We whisper through the trailers. We laugh at the same dumb jokes as a roomful of people we’ll never meet. And we love it.

What You Lose When You Stream

Streaming may be convenient, but it’s a muted experience. When a movie ends, the credits shrink to a corner while an algorithm tries to sell you another show. No communal sigh. No walk back to the car. No debate in the lobby. Just “Next Up: CSI: New Orleans.”

Nosferatu recently reminded me why theaters matter. That movie needs to be seen on a massive screen. Same with Oppenheimer, Top Gun: Maverick, or even your average Marvel noise-machine. These movies carry a sense of bigness — audacious visions meant to overwhelm you on a massive screen, not shrink down to your living room TV.

Yes, the living room saves you from the loud talker or the TikTok kid in the front row but that unpredictability, the presence of others, the collective viewing experience is the point. When a whole crowd jumps at the same scare or laughs in sync, it’s like communion. That’s what streaming can’t replicate.

Monoculture Isn’t Dead, It’s Just on Life Support

In an age of infinite niches, the theater is one of the last places where monoculture still sort of exists. You can go to a party and say, “Did you see that movie?” and someone might have. Online, we’re all in algorithmically curated silos. If you want to talk about Weapons, good luck finding someone who’s seen it. But mention a theatrical release? Now that might spark a real conversation.

And yes, the economics matter. As Matt Kniaz, a talent manager at Crimson Media, put it: “Some movies are made to be seen in a theater,” Kniaz told me. “Going with friends or family isn’t just entertainment — it’s how we experience art and make memories. Some people want AI to replace everything. We can’t do that. Movies need people. An AI movie will never have that touch. And that sucks.”

Every ticket you buy is a vote to keep the system alive. Big blockbusters rake in cash, sure, but that money bankrolls the weird mid-budget stuff — your thrillers, your offbeat comedies, your rom-dramedies starring a heavily made up Sydney Sweeny going back to her hometown to find herself post-divorce. The kinds of movies that don’t stream well, but that shine in a dark room. I’m not telling you that you have to gobble up all the big-budget drek, but going to the movies keeps the ecosystem alive. If you wanna see more stuff you like, you gotta go see the stuff in the theater and not wait for it to hit Netflix because that helps no one. Otherwise, it’s more Fantastic Four spinoffs.

Streaming services don’t want risk. They want retention. They don’t greenlight auteurs, they greenlight algorithms. The next Amélie, Waking Life, or The Crow won’t survive in that system. But it might survive in a theater, if enough of us show up.

Yes, It’s Expensive. Go Anyway.

Is it overpriced? Absolutely. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t sneak in snacks. (I’m not saying a friend and I once smuggled a case of beer into Pirates of the Caribbean and drank it all, but I’m not not saying that either.)

Many theaters offer discount nights or serve beer and sliders. But whether you’re paying full freight or sneaking in burritos, you’re doing your part to keep theaters alive and not just for the next Avengers installment. For the weird stuff. The beautiful stuff. The risky stuff.

So yeah: we need to go to the movies.

Not just for nostalgia. Not just for the spectacle. But because the theater is still a place where art can surprise us. Where people gather to feel something together. Where we sit, side by side in the dark, and remember what it’s like to be part of something bigger than ourselves.

Netflix and chill is fine. But movie night is a ritual. It’s communion. And if we stop showing up, we don’t just lose theaters — we lose one of the last places where art still has the power to surprise us. I swear to God, you’d better go before I’m stuck with Dogman 4 and Superman 35 as my only date-night options.

I want weird, new movies to talk about in the car.