House movie or a superhero movie or a spy Want to go to the movies, any movie, an art “I don’t want to prop up my laptop on theĮnd table and open Netflix, not even withĪ bowl of homemade popcorn by my side - I We fully associate the sensory experiences of smell and taste with the sights and sounds of watching movies, even though we sacrifice a degree of appreciation for each activity for the sake of the combined pleasure. It’s a presumed part of the experience despite the fact that it’s a distraction from the reason we’re in a theater in the first place. Buying concessions - or sneaking them in - is now fully wedded to the act of moviegoing. My mother refused to participate in what seemed like a trap: you pay to enter a space for one experience (a movie) and are encouraged, perhaps even compelled, to incur an even greater cost for another (eating and drinking).

We pile into the car to commit our first petty crime of the day. She doesn’t bother to conceal the tote’s contents should anyone ask to look inside, the cat - and the popcorn - will already be out of the bag. She loads a canvas tote bag with three cans of juice, bendy straws wrapped in flimsy white paper napkins, and the bagged popcorn before announcing that it’s time to go. She portions the popped corn into three standard-issue brown paper lunch bags - one for her, one for me, one for my younger sister - neatly folds their tops, and secures each one with a single central staple. The machine whirs and popcorn jitters down the chute into a stainless-steel bowl, some spilling onto the counters and floor. She pulls the air popper out of the woodgrain kitchen cabinets, puts it on the white tile counter, and measures out a quarter-cup of kernels.

It’s any given weekend in the early 80s, and my mother is prepping.

Movie and popcorn