Well, I ain’t telling. Go see it yourself. I took advantage of being between technical writing gigs and I saw it today, the day it opened (if you don’t count Thursday night). It was tough to get a seat, but I got one at the Great Mall: front row center, the one luxury seat in the house that would not fully recline. Sigh. To my right were eight kids of various skin tones. (I know it was eight because my seat was A9.) They made a little noise.
I will pause here to let you think about them and about me. I am a fanboy in my early 60s. I am Swedish ancestry, meaning so white that if I stand next to a bright light, you can see some of my vital organs. You’d think I’d be grumpy at those dang-nab kids making noise. (I once believed that blabbing during a movie should be added to the death penalty list.)
You’d be wrong. When these kids did some whispering, I resisted the urge to hush them, they were not loud. Their eyes and ears stayed glued to that screen. Not one lit up their cell phone. During the big climactic battle scene was when they made noise. They cheered when Thanos was clobbered and when Spider-Man swung into the picture and when Captain Marvel flew in and did what she does so well. When a big bunch of Marvel superheroines stood side-by-side ready to take names and kick ass, the girls in those eight harmonized like cheerleaders. And when Black Panther showed up ready for battle, one black girl crowed with pure joy: “Black Panthah, Black Panthah!!!” That made me smile, a young girl getting to see someone who looked a little like her on the big screen.
I digress here for a moment. Many years ago, I was listening to (ugh!) Rush Limbaugh. (I believe in getting to know my enemy before striking a match.) A young black man had called in to say he wanted more role models in America. Rush responded with the most obnoxious sentence in this universe, nay, in the entire multiverse: “Why don’t you use me as a role model?” The young man laughed and said, “You?”
No, Rush. Just NO! I like vanilla, but there are other flavors, some people are other flavors, and that cry of joy from that young black girl blended into the movie like music. Those eight kids were the happiest, cheeringest, having-the-best-time-at-the-movies-EVERingest I have ever seen.
I have had a bad experience with kids at the movies. At the first JJ Abrams Star Trek movie, the theater was filled with kids (mostly white) who climbed over the seats like a jungle gym, wrestled, blabbed about anything except the movie, and never even once looked up at the screen. When I left, a young black lady asked me if I’d been in that theater. I said yes, rather unhappily. She said she’d been there too and had complained to the management, but the management didn’t do anything. I complained to the management and got a free ticket. I still wonder if that was white privilege in action.
Take your kids to see Avengers: Endgame. If they cheer, let ‘em. But if they blab or wrestle or climb or any combination of that triple, smack them in the back of the head and say in your best Chicago leg-breaking thug voice: SHUDDUP!!!