The two main movie theaters in Panama are not different from those I remember at home. The majority of the movies, with exception of cartoons, are shown in their original English with Spanish subtitles which is actually a relief compared to Spain where Russell Crow’s voice is dubbed with that of a sixty year-old Spaniard. Whether intentional or not, the subtitles in Panama are rarely verbatim, a quirk that gives those of us who vaguely grasp both languages a chance to bask in our expertise. “Put your goddamned ass in this chair you mother fucker,” was the quote from one police interrogation scene I remember, translated loosely to “have a seat?”

It was a long time ago, but one of the fondest movie going experienced in my life took place in downtown Baltimore. Being new to the area, a friend and I chose a theater we now realize was probably better left to drug dealers and pimps, with a man selling ice cold forties walking up and down the dimly lit aisle inquiring, “who wanna get messed up?”

I remember the afternoon so vividly not because of the particular movie that was showing, Spiderman I think, but rather because of the people sitting around me who talked louder and more frequently than most roundtable abortion discussions. It was amazing. At the beginning it annoyed me but as the movie progressed, I came to think of the folks as ongoing commentators sometimes pertinent to the movie, sometimes not. A few years afterwards, I heard a story circulating that in that very theater, a man shot the guy behind him for talking too much. The gunshot, to me, was far less fascinating than the fact that the man very calmly sat down after the shooting to continue watching the flick and said to his wife, “Should I not have done that?”

Panama’s theaters aren’t nearly as noisy as in Baltimore, but there are certain facets of culture here that simply seep into the screenings whether Panamanians are aware of it or not. Roughly three times out of ten, a Panamanian will carry a full and normal-toned phone conversation during the course of the movie. Where they are able to find the audacity in such a dark theater, I don’t know. There is also the number of people in Panama who talk to the movie, not just during it, suggesting characters not go in rooms or down dark corridors for fear that something bad might happen. One kid I sat next to during a Christmas film threw popcorn in the air and suggested to me that it was snowing.

The type of comedy that really gets crowds rolling in Panama is what I’ve come to think of as a combination between potty humor and adult men dressed in diapers. Sarcasm has a way of being ruined via translation, so it’s humor in its simplest form that tends to get a rouse at the movies. Step on a garden hoe while you tumble into a pile of burning leaves? Surefire approval from Panamanian audiences. Dry wit and subtleties…not so much.

My grandmother once told me about the days when she used to pay five cents to see a movie. “Did they have seats back then?” I asked. She ignored my question and went on to make the point that going to the movies used to be an economical experience, one that had its part in the fabric of American society. Just recently, I saw the movie Hancock in the States and spent $42, which cemented her point. But in Panama, tickets are around $3, popcorn is around $2 and one can actually escape without giving up his firstborn child; a step in the right direction for movie goers like me.

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Filed under: Living & Retirement on January 17th, 2009