Saturday's screening of the Breakfast Club in Dolores Park drew a predictably enormous crowd, making blanket space on the lawn the most valuable real estate in the Mission for one night only.
Maybe it was just the sheer number of people packed in so tightly that put some on edge, but patience was running low. I was sitting smack dab in the middle of the crowd, and almost everyone who stood up after the film started was pelted with insults and threats of violence that rose to a fever pitch upon noncompliance.
Too many attendees seemed to take John Bender's words to heart: If he gets up, we'll all get up, it'll be anarchy.
Seriously people, have you never gone to a film night in the park and had a friend show up late, and thus be faced with the unenviable task of trying to pick their way through several hundred people in the dark? It sucks, and sometimes you need your friend to stand up and wave a cell phone at you. And sometimes you just need to go pee.
I mean, I get it. You can't see the screen for, like, a minute. And yes, that person does make a better door than a window. But it's the freaking Breakfast Club. Nothing has changed since the last time you saw it. Really. Judd Nelson is still totally overacting and knitting his eyebrows furiously at the Flare Gun Suicide Kid. Molly Ringwald is still a redhead. If you cannot truly appreciate the Breakfast Club unless you witness every frame of its cinematic artistry, perhaps Film Night in the Park is not the forum for you.
Side note: That other film night has a good thing going with their pre-established bathroom walkways built out of string and such. Maybe the San Francisco Neighborhood Theater Foundation could follow suit? (Which is not to say the SFNTF does not do a rad job! They do. Give them money.)