What we won't go through for you, 007
I'll be braving James Bond tonight. I say "braving" because seeing movies in the Bahamas is not what you might call a leisurely activity. For one thing, they have a tendency to turn up the volume up to Spinal Tap level. Not sure what the rationale is. Perhaps they want to cover up the funky smell and figure one sense will override the other.
They also have some logistic problems which we encountered on Saturday going to see Happy Feet (which, despite the efforts of the theatre-owners, I managed to enjoy immensely anyway).
The worst offense, though, is the interactive tendencies of your average Bahamian movie patron. For whatever reason, Bahamians seem to think that characters on the screen can hear them and they regularly shout criticism, both good and bad, to the screen. And not barely hushed whispers either. I'm talking full-blown, "BOY, WHACHOO DOIN' WALKIN' IN DERE LIKE DAT!" to quote a direct example from our visit to The Bourne Supremacy. (Or the more inexplicable, "OH NO! YA LIE!" yelled at regular intervals from the lady behind me at Happy Feet.)
But Jimmy B is like unto God to me in whatever form He takes, so while we need to be more strategic in our scheduling, it's off to the movies we go.
As for the "talkers", I'll bring an air horn just in case.