DAVID MARCUS: What everyone is really talking about after Barbenheimer… How our magical movie theaters are now dingy, expensive, understaffed Soviet-era Costcos marked by violence and filth

For the hordes of Americans returning to movie theaters this weekend for the rare pleasure of a summer blockbuster, a sobering realization awaits.

The magic of the movie theater is gone, and probably forever.

Barbieheimer: The dueling launch of two would-be Hollywood blockbusters, Barbie and Oppenheimer – perhaps it has given us false hope.

But anyone who’s recently settled into a rubbery, padded seat to watch the latest Tinseltown movie knows what I’m talking about.

The enchanting silver screens of our childhood have turned into dens of gloomy darkness, and even danger.

The video came out this week of a shocking attack on a 63-year-old man in Florida, who had the temerity to ask a couple to move from the pre-assigned seat they had purchased.

The younger assailant lunged at the man, knocking him to the ground, before punching him in the face as the trailer for the new Mission Impossible movie played in the background.

Sure, that could happen anywhere, but it says a lot about going to the movies today.

It’s as fun as getting punched in the face.

Film companies are in a death spiral.

As we all entered the COVID lockdown, studios scaled back their production, their inventory went straight to streaming, box office sales fell off a cliff, and theaters closed their doors en masse.

Between 2019 and 2022, 2,165 US theaters, more than 5% of the nation’s screens, closed for good.

Barbieheimer, the dueling launch of two would-be Hollywood hits, Barbie and Oppenheimer, may have given us false hope. (Above) Ryan Gosling, left, and Margot Robbie in a Barbie scene

Many of those who survived are left with a limp. Ticket prices have increased (the national average is $10.53 from $9.16 in 2019) and the quality of the experience is very low.

It’s not just the threat of physical violence that mars the post-pandemic cinema trip.

The whole experience is a damp and depressing metaphor for a society that barely knows how to function in public.

Walking into your local theater, once buzzing with video game sounds, wild children, shy couples on charming first dates, and an air of excitement, feels like walking into some sort of Soviet-era Costco.

At the concession stands, when they are open, you can stand in line for hours for the privilege of spending the approximate price of a fine meal in Paris for a bucket of popcorn or hot dogs that are a strange shade of green.

The shelves, once packed with a wide variety of sweets and treats, are empty.

With a second mortgage of inedible snacks in your hands, you search your phone to find your exact seat, which was purchased online, of course. God forbid, we have too much human interaction.

Gone are the meritocratic days of first come, first served. Once upon a time, if you had it together, you got to the theater early and earned yourself a prime spot in the audience.

Now the rich and frivolous rule. Those willing to pay extra for a “preferred” seat can move to the far end of the upcoming rides to step and trip over customers who had the foresight to arrive on time.

And those who refused to pay a premium end up in the front row craning their necks at a 90-degree angle.

If you’re lucky enough to get to your seat without being assaulted, the lights sometimes go out completely, sometimes they don’t, sometimes it’s cold, sometimes it’s hot.

Sticky floors and musty smells seem to whisper, “We’re understaffed, just deal with it.”

The scruffy kid who took your ticket also worked the concession desk, swept the floors and restocked the men’s room.

Clearly, theaters cannot afford to hire enough workers or pay their employees enough to handle them.

When there are staff to see and deal with, they are Gen Zs who are so obviously offended by having to do a job that you almost feel sorry for asking them for any assistance.

The younger assailant lunged at the man, knocking him to the ground, before punching him in the face as the trailer for the new Mission Impossible movie played in the background. (Above) Movie theater attack suspect flees scene

Walking into your local theater, once buzzing with video game sounds, wild children, shy couples on charming first dates, and an air of excitement, feels like walking into some sort of Soviet-era Costco.

Half the time, as you wait for the trailers, you get a sneaking suspicion that a voice might be coming from above intoning, “Does anyone know how to work a projector?”

The stark reality is that many people would rather watch the big screen in their living room than the biggest screen in their local multiplex.

But isn’t that yet another reason to reclaim the majesty and power of the traditional cinema palace to draw us in with awe and nostalgic grandeur?

Americans need movies. It is part of our heritage, our tradition. It used to be affordable middle-class luxury worth every penny. Now, it feels like paying for an insult.

To really recover from the Covid lockdown, we need to have good things again. We need bustling restaurant districts, full office buildings, clean and safe subways, and yes, we need movie theaters to be an oasis, not a reminder of all we’ve lost.

To paraphrase a one-time success story, if you slap on a paint job, mop the floor, and treat the customers well, they will “come.”

On the other hand, if they only offer us dirt, a hostile face and theaters with all the charm of a storage space center, then this industry, which was once a diamond, will turn to dust.

And if movie theaters go the way of video clubs, something of great value will be lost. Our children will never know the magic and wonder we all took for granted.

We do not allow this to happen.

Now get off my lawn!