Cinemanager... Confessions from the Movie Theatre

By Jeremiah Jackson

Popcorn, Soda and Showbiz... Meet man in charge in the week running up to the biggest film release of the year as he tells all about the thieving staff, customers who love to queue, vomiting children and badly behaved parents. Missing films, burnt popcorn and a projection booth explosion all have to be handled... The show will go on, but how many more things can go wrong before release day?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeremiah Jackson
• Release date: Sep 29, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301967193

Jeremiah Jackson

Jeremiah Jackson worked in the cinema industry in the UK for many years. It made him cynical and he always used to say, as many people do, “I could write a book about the crazy stuff that goes on here.” Unlike many people who say those words though, he actually did write that book.

Book preview

Cinemanager… confessions from the movie theatre

Jeremiah Jackson

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2013 by Jeremiah Jackson

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

without the express written permission of the publisher

except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Thanks to…

Foreword - it is all true

Thursday, Alarm Call

Thursday, Stock

Friday, Five-Close

Saturday, Two-Ten

Sunday, Eleven-Seven

Monday, AFD

Closing, things don’t change

About The Author

Glossary

Thanks to…

To ZC, who trained me well, and to JD, the only other decent boss.

With thanks to my Dad for being chief proof-reader and for chivvying me along to remember to finish the book I started writing in between work, family, hobbies and everything else that keeps me busy.

With thanks to my wife for being my wife, and for her contributions to making sure the techy stuff didn’t get too boring.

Foreword - it is all true

It’s all true. Really, it is. This story is a collection of my memories as a cinema manager condensed into a narrative spanning a working week. The narrator is the Deputy General Manager (2nd in Charge) of an out of town multiplex cinema. The site this story takes place in is a quite good one with a moderately wealthy clientele in a large UK town. I worked in four or five of the chain’s sites during the time I was with the company.

None of the events described are made up or exaggerated. They all happened at one time or another. Names have been changed and some timelines have been compressed but it is all true.

Before being published in this e-book edition, the book was written back in the early noughties when popcorn only cost a fiver and film was still film, before the digital cinema projector arrived and made the whole thing a lot less fun. At the time this story takes place, DVD was cutting edge and digital cinema was still very rare.

The technical details may not be completely accurate; I was a manager not a technical employee after all.

I couldn’t make this stuff up!

Thursday, Alarm Call

03:42

Dreaming…. Or I was. I can hear the landline ringing and my heart sinks. I know it is for me. It’ll be the alarm company. I throw on a dressing gown and go downstairs to take the call in the hall in an attempt not to wake up the entire house.

I pick up the phone. Hullo I manage to grunt.

Is that the manager of the cinema at Paradiso leisure park? asks the caller.

Yes I say. My heart sinks.

We’ve had an alarm activation at the site. they say.

Ok, I’m on my way. I tell them.

I trudge back upstairs and get dressed. God I’m knackered. I didn’t work yesterday and had a few drinks last night. I dress and head downstairs. As I step outside the front door the cold bites my face and ears. I’m a little steamy still; I hope I don’t get pulled over on the way to work. Not that I have any choice, no other bugger is going to get out of bed and go to sort it out. I live closest to the site so it is always me. I do remember with glee once being called to respond to an alarm when I was a hundred miles away and ever so slightly drunk. I took great pleasure in getting them to call someone else. That's the only time I remember it wasn't me who dealt with an alarm. It’s always me, and I get no pay or thanks, either for being on call 24/7/365 or for actually going on a call out.

Just as I approach the site my mobile rings in my pocket. I don’t manage to answer it but as I drive onto the site and park right outside the side door to the cinema I pick up the voicemail that has just been left. It is home calling to say that the monitoring company phoned back and they said that somebody is inside the building so I shouldn’t enter alone. Bollocks is the exact phrase that springs to mind. There’s never anyone inside. I’ve heard them say things like that a hundred times before and it has never, ever been true. Life just isn’t that exciting at 3:45am. Still, I decide to go and get the security guard from the hut where someone is posted 24 hours a day to watch over the entire leisure park: cinema, bowling alley, restaurants and all.

I’m quite pleased to see that it is Jenna working security tonight. She’s a fairly butch lesbian and has no fear. She attempted to charm one of my team leaders into bed once but that’s another story. I greet Jenna and we do a quick circuit of the outside and look for signs of forced entry. Seeing none, (as always), we head towards the cinema side door.

I unlock the door and silence the alarm on the panel just inside. Straining my eyes I see that the panel is telling me that a PIR (infra red movement detector) was triggered at the gate area, between the foyer and the corridor to the screens where someone stands and checks tickets. A PIR alarm is not a surprise; most likely a poster fell down and tripped it. It happens a lot – in fact 99% of all alarm calls are either a poster falling down or a strong wind battering the front doors, shaking them so much a sensor gets tripped. I walk to the gate area and have a look around, eyes scanning for a fallen poster or banner. Jenna follows me silently.

I am unable to see the problem so I call the alarm company, get straight through and ask them to remotely reset the alarm system so I can set it again then lock up and go home.

When you have an alarm, you have to get the alarm company to dial in and remotely reset the system. This is the worst part of being dragged out of bed in the middle of the night - you have to sit around for half an hour waiting for someone to sort the problem out. Jenna slopes back to her security hut and I head upstairs to sit in the office surfing the net whilst waiting for the call to say the system has been reset. After about 15 minutes the phone goes and I am told the system is reset and I can leave. I go back down to the exit door and tap in my code and hit set, then I leave the building and lock the door. I jump into my car and by the time I’m ten feet away my mind is already on my bed, which I cannot wait to get back to.

As I approach the exit of the leisure park I become aware of a flashing light somewhere in my peripheral vision. I also realise I can hear an alarm. Looking in my rear view mirror I notice Jenna running towards me waving her arms in the air.

SHIT!

The bloody alarm has gone off again, wailing away and the strobe light on the sounder box on the wall of the building is flashing away. It must be a faulty sensor. Bloody thing! I turn the car round and park again. I head back inside with Jenna and silence the alarm. Without even going to look I’m on the phone to the alarm company requesting another reset.

While I’m waiting for them to call back with an all clear I go into the menu on the alarm panel to remove the faulty sensor from the circuit until I can get it called in for repair. I’m not having it wake me up every bloody night for the next week.

As I’m doing this, Jenna taps me on the shoulder and I turn around. I freeze. I can hear footsteps. By the look on her face, so can Jenna. It is the only time I’ve ever seen her drop her calm exterior. She heard them too.

Shit shit SHIT!

Without saying a word we get out of the door and close it. Outside in the freezing air I grab my mobile again and phone the police, explaining that we heard footsteps inside the cinema. After that I call the alarm company back and tell them what has happened. They say they will watch the sensors for us.

Within about 30 seconds a police car turns up with blues but no twos. They pull up and I explain to the driver what has happened. He jabbers into his radio, says Wait here to me and his car speeds round the corner of the building to guard the rear.

Another police car arrives. Then another. And another. Every bloody copper on duty in town tonight seems to be hurtling over here. Thank god it isn’t a Friday or we’d get no response at all, the police would all be in the city centre wrestling with pissed teenagers being booted out of bars and clubs.

A sergeant identifies himself to me and I explain the layout of the building to him and the locations of the dozen or so fire exits around the place. The cars spread out around the building and the officers all jump out, leaving the lights flashing, the doors open and the engines running. The police form a cordon around the building, one at each fire exit and one on each corner, standing diagonally and waving signals at each other. The siege is on. The dogs have been called for.

When the dog van arrives, out jumps a tiny woman and a huge dog. For some reason, every police dog handler I've ever seen in real life has been female - must be something about bitches sticking together because they're never very friendly either. Both come towards us. The dog brings the woman to us, not the other way around. The dog handler asks us where we think we heard the footsteps and I say I think they were upstairs somewhere which is the staff only area (The cinema is on two floors with the auditoriums (screens we call them) being two storeys high. The projection booth, management office and staff rooms are on the upper floor), essentially a dead end.

For most police searches (for example during security alerts and bomb scares) we are asked to accompany the police because we know the layout of the building, have keys to all the doors and we know in a second if something is out of place. In the case of a dog search, you cannot do that because the dog gets very confused and thinks it is you who is the intruder. So, I direct this bitch (and her dog) upstairs to begin the search while we all wait at the foot of the stairs by the side door.

After a few minutes the dog and handler return having found no intruders saying that there is one locked door left. That will be the door to the projection corridor leading to the booth and the switch room. I explain that there are two ways up on to the roof from inside this corridor, and one fire escape right at the end of the booth that comes out at the far end of the building. Radio chatter follows and I gather that the officer guarding this fire exit is now getting a buddy to help him in case the dog drives the intruder out. I’m certain nobody will be down this corridor but the police insist on the dog search. I go upstairs with them and open the projection door then wait outside. The search only takes a minute to two. Nobody was found and they are quite sure nobody has got onto the roof.

We then have to do the tricky bit: search the public areas downstairs. The police are loving this. I’m crapping myself. I go outside and wait with a few officers and Jenna. My mobile rings in my pocket and I answer it. It’s the alarm company, telling me that the sensors were tripped in sequence coming from the screen corridor, through the gate into the foyer and then towards the toilets. I find an officer with a radio who sends this information inside - check the toilets! That’s where the bastards will be hiding! Not wanting to destroy the momentum of the search the police don't go to the toilets immediately – I find this incredibly frustrating. I can see the entrance to the toilets through the glass front of the cinema and after a while I see the search party going in, and then coming out empty handed. What the hell? I think.

The wait continues. By this time I've been standing around outside for about 35 minutes freezing my arse off watching a bunch of coppers who don't know where they're going wandering around in my cinema. I’m starting to get nervous – they had better find someone, I'll look a right tit if they don't. I don’t understand it. I confirm with Jenna that we both heard footsteps. We did. Whoever is or was in there either has a bloody good hiding place or is long gone but I have no idea where. No fire exits had been opened before the police arrived and I’m guessing we’d know if someone had come out of one since. Bloody hell it is freezing. Let’s just finish the search so I can get back to bed I think.

I’ve had so many trivial alarm calls over the years that to be honest I’m quite glad that on this occasion something is actually happening. I’ve cleared up so many fallen posters, dealt with countless external doors that weren’t secured and blew open in the wind, and I was called out three times in the course of a week during a site refurbishment last year when work was going on through the night. On one occasion they opened a door they shouldn’t (screen fire exits are permanently alarmed), the next day the duty manager set the alarm on them before going home and then two days later they broke a fire alarm call point. I remember walking in bleary eyed to find them all working away happily up ladders and scaffold platforms, totally ignoring the blaring siren going off in their ears.

After another 20 minutes of searching, I see a police officer running towards us from inside the building. My heart skips a beat as he comes outside, approaches me and says that he’s been asked to escort me inside. Apprehensively I go with him, wondering what (or who) they’ve found. We get inside and start walking towards the screens as the officer explains; We’ve found some people in one of the screens.

Oh really?

Yes, they claim they are cleaners Bollocks are they, I think, We’d like you to come and confirm this for us? says the officer

Ok. I say.

The officer takes me towards screen seven. As we approach I can hear the dog barking its bloody head off. We enter the screen to see the dog straining against his tiny handler gnashing his teeth and growling at a group of three very small black people, cowering about half way up the stadium seating steps. They are all shaking. Physically shaking, terrified of the dog that is twice the size of its handler. I’d be crapping myself too. That handler must have some muscles in her arms.

I can see immediately that these people are telling a true story. The entire screen smells damp and I can see mops, buckets and steam cleaning machines strewn around. Competitive cleaning. mumbles one of the cleaners. I think that the company name and No are probably the only three English words she knows. Imagine the poor sods working away and next thing they know this huge bitch and a dog come running into the screen, dog barking its head off jumping on them accompanied by the cry of something like Police! Get your hands up! I ask them if they were Ok - physically shaking they all say Yeah we're fine even though they aren't anything remotely approaching fine.

Competitive cleaning is our contract cleaning company, and these guys are clearly doing one of their overnight seat and fabric cleans for us. The cleaning crews come every morning and clean all the public areas and every six months or so head office books them to do an overnight cleaning blitz. Clearly one was booked for tonight, however head office haven’t bothered to tell anyone at site. This isn’t that unusual and wouldn’t be a massive problem except that the lazy bitch Amy (newly promoted soon to be newly demoted team leader which is essentially an hourly paid shift duty manager) obviously didn’t do a very thorough (or even cursory) sweep of the building before alarming and locking up for the night on her shift the previous evening.

Add to the disastrous mix the fact that the cleaners obviously didn’t bother to identify themselves to anyone last night and must have just wheeled in and started cleaning. After a few hours’ hard labour, they tripped an alarm but didn't hear it. After the alarm had been fixed and re-set, another cleaner must have decided he needed a piss and headed to the toilets... Bingo! You have a cocked up alarm call, a shitload of embarrassment and most seriously a disturbance to my sleep!

Are they the real deal? asks the officer. Bizarre question I think even in my sleepy state. What the hell would real criminals be doing with all this cleaning gear? Best not be too sarcastic with my reply so I simply say yes.

I think they must have been locked in last night and the duty manager set the alarm. One of them must have needed the loo a few hours into the job and headed out of the screen to gate. (Gate is the area where we tear tickets as people go from the foyer to the screen corridor).

We all file out of the building leaving the cleaners to it. I feel mortified. I’m so embarrassed. I was concerned that the police would not be impressed by this cock-up, but they seem to think it is frankly hilarious. Most of the officers seem to have enjoyed themselves anyway; there obviously wasn’t a great deal else going on tonight. Don’t worry it was a good training exercise for us, and anyhow better safe than sorry. says the sergeant.

Yeah, goodnight I say. As quickly as they arrived, the police force melts away, leaving Jenna and I by ourselves in the freezing cold car park.

I’d best not set the alarm I say to her, locking the cleaners in for the night and asking her to keep an eye on them. It’s not unheard of for them to park a car by an exit and unload a few grand’s worth of food into it. Jenna assures me two things: One, she will keep an eye on the cleaners. Two, she will ensure that everyone on the entire leisure park knows about what has happened within 24 hours. I’m going to fucking KILL Amy next time I see her. Useless cow!

04:59

I get into my car and begin to drive home. On the way I can’t help feeling that it could have been worse. Last year one of our sites in Scotland had some people hide in the cinema and jump out as the manager was leaving. They forced him at gunpoint into the cash office and made him empty the safe. They then tied him up and abseiled off the roof with £40k in cash. They got away with it I think. Poor bastard was left in there until someone found him next morning. I’m glad that hasn’t just happened to me.

As I pull onto the drive my mobile buzzes in my pocket. FUCK! I fish it out of my pocket to find it is a text from my Jerry, the GM (General Manager).

Alarm going off alarm company phoned me. Please respond.

SORTED is all I text back. I switch off the engine.

Home. Sleep. Thank god I’m not in until tomorrow afternoon.

09:12

I’m woken up by my mobile ringing. I’m a little tired and my eyes don’t focus on the number. I answer it groggily. It’s Kev, says an unmistakable Birmingham accent. Kev is the operations director, essentially the guy all the area managers report to. He’s also the biggest arsehole anyone anywhere has ever met.

Morning. I grunt. He’s obviously bullied this morning’s duty manager at site into giving him my mobile number after he called them and they were unaware there was even an alarm last night.

Why the hell did you call the police last night? he asks.

Because we heard footsteps… I say. He cuts me off mid-sentence.

The alarm company are charging us for the reset and I bet the police have a go too. Why didn’t you check it out before calling them for a false alarm? The alarm company always charge for resets. They would do that no matter if I called the police are not.

The police didn’t mind, I protest

Yeah right. Next time, don’t be a weed. Check it out first! click. He’s hung up. Fuck him! How quickly he has forgotten what happened in Scotland. If I ever hear footsteps in the middle of the night when I'm called to an alarm, I'm going to call the police. Fuck anyone who tells me otherwise or accuses me of making undue fuss.

Will I ever get any sleep?

Thursday, Stock

16:00

Well, 15:48 actually. I’m due in at 16:00 but always arrive early, young and keen as I am. First thing I do when I get to the office is to call up the advanced ticket sales figures for Monday. Monday is a bank holiday and may just be the biggest day in this site’s history.

The latest instalment of a very popular kids’ film series, Boy Story four is being released. Like a boy band’s single release it will be short and sharp – everyone who wants to see it (and there will be plenty who do) will want to see it as soon as possible, so market share at opening is critical. A Bank Holiday release date means that a massive proportion of the people who want to see it will be able to (i.e. they won’t be at school or work) on the day of release.

Normally for a large film release on a Friday, no matter how big the film, the evening shows will be sold out in advance but the day time shows won’t – there will be a hardcore contingent of people who take the morning off work (or in the case of a film like Lord of the Rings, a hardcore contingent of geeks who delay getting their benefit cheques) to see the film at the very first showing (always the people at the first showing wearing costumes too, especially in the case of Lord of the Rings and Star Wars films), then it will be quiet. A typical opening day will be 40% full at show one, very quiet for the next two and then sold out from early afternoon until the very last show of the day.

Monday however will be different – the potential is there to be sold out all day. We already are – have been since about two days after the first lot of tickets went on sale three weeks ago. We have three prints, running all day in the three largest screens. This weekend is where we will attempt to squeeze in as many extra shows as possible and this defines the art of running a cinema well at peak time. Squeezing in an extra showing involves choosing another screen with a quiet film in it and dropping that film for the blockbuster. This is actually a lot more complex than it may sound – there are a few obstacles to doing it.

Firstly, films are booked through head office and are contracted to a number of shows per week and revenue to the film studios is calculated based upon those showings. Every Monday (for the following Friday opening, the week starts on a Friday for us) the film buyers negotiate with all of the studios to decide which films will go in which screens at approximately what time (every studio wants their film in the largest screen at 20:00). The film buyers will then contact each of their sites with a basic schedule that will run something like this:

Screen one – all five shows movie A all week

Screen two – first, third and fifth show movie B, second and fourth shows movie C

Screen three – print two of movie A show five Sunday, all others movie D

…and so on for each screen

There will be a layout for each screen and then there will be extras – preview screenings, subtitled shows, private hires etc which may dictate dropping a particular show on a particular day, swapping screens about etc etc. The site manager then writes this to a schedule that suits the individual site’s market and operating hours (license). It can be horrendously complex.

This is therefore the first hurdle – which showing do you drop (or swap around) to fit in an extra show? The easiest answer is usually one from the same studio who won’t mind, but all too often you need to renegotiate with a rival studio to drop one of their films – they will not want you to do this because they are banking on overflow people watching their film because they cannot see the sold out blockbuster. Thankfully this hurdle is negotiated and decided by film buyers – Best not to speculate on the shady deals of the film buying department and the agreements they reach.

Imagine then that you are able to get your film buyer to agree to drop a show – you then need a print to run. Despite what people think, cinemas use film. Actual film, celluloid. A movie print costs thousands of pounds to produce and there are very rarely spares, so you cannot obtain one for an extra show when you feel like it. The solution to this is called interlocking – you simply run one print of a film through two projectors simultaneously.

People often imagine a little square room where every projector sits, one for each screen. In fact, projection booths are usually long, large dimly lit rooms with plenty of space to move around in depending on the floor plan of the site. Ours is long and narrow, with four projectors lining each side wall facing into the auditoriums, running directly above the corridor the public use below. It is laid out like this to allow interlocks to take place and most modern cinemas have just one or two projection booths, although two or more is not unheard of.

Projectionists hate doing interlocks because they involve careful lacing through rollers on the walls and ceilings and a lot of praying on their part, but never mind them for now. My concern with interlocking is fitting it in – you need to cancel a show that is:

1: In a screen either next to or behind the showing you are doubling up, and worse

2: Starting at around the same time and of the same length that you can actually fit it in, preferably only cancelling one show.

This is a nightmare because you want to interlock your busiest show (usually 8pm or thereabouts on a weekend night) which will involve cancelling a good show around the same time, which will also be a