THE WRITE PLACE: Column

Some things are simply too good to share with anyone
Imagine this. You are reading a novel, set in Tauranga. You are awash with the warm glow of recognition - oh, Devonport Rd! Ah, the Marina! You feel part of the book and you love this sensation.
So you get up, rummage in the kitchen drawer for your scissors, cut out all the familiar references, and paste them into a notebook.
Later you lend the novel to a friend, reminiscing with her about the local references. Then she reaches the first snipped page. She becomes concerned about your state of mind.
This fantasy is absurd, right? That would be the act of a Philistine. Unthinkable.
But in cinemas where another form of story-telling occurs, a culture of unsanctioned disturbance seems to have been established. The line is smudged between individual enjoyment and freedom, and the public's expectation of watching a movie unsullied by natterers.
Recently, I saw Farewell at a cinema. On my left were Mr and Mrs Well-Travelled, who had visited Moscow, where the film was shot.
This last fact I ascertained not by telepathy, but by the frequent and audible remarks they made to each other when landmark buildings filled the screen.
I take movies seriously. I glare "Ssh!" from the corner of my eye.
Mrs Well-Travelled is somewhat aware of my elliptical optics, but undaunted. So, minutes later, notwithstanding Mr and Mrs Well-Travelled's inalienable right to mar our pleasure, I say, "Excuse me, madam, we've all been to Moscow, but now is not the time to talk about it."
"Oh, you're so rude."
"You're the rude one," I whisper. "This is a cinema. If you want to chat, wait until the DVD comes out and watch it at home."
Meanwhile, our loaned book reader calls its owner.
"Ah, Jane. How are you?"
"I'm fine."
"Really?
"Of course. Why do you ask?"
"Well, it's just that there are pieces snipped out of that book you lent me. I can't finish it, because I don't know what's going on, and there's absolutely nothing about Tauranga in it."
"No, not any more. I liked those bits so much I wanted to keep them for myself. I forgot to tell you."