KH
Kirstey Hancock
May 3, 2026
If I could award negative stars, I’d be hovering somewhere around –10 without hesitation. What unfolded at the 6:30 showing of Michael Jackson this evening was less a cinema visit and more an endurance test in slow-moving disorder.
We arrived at 6:05—naively assuming that 25 minutes would be ample time. Straight to the food queue we went, only to find ourselves in a line of such length and inertia it felt like we were queuing for an actual Michael Jackson reunion tour. Twenty minutes later, we finally secured our food and drinks at the impressively precise time of 6:29—just enough time, in theory, to take our seats.
Except, of course, not. The screen was still being “cleaned,” a process that apparently concludes only once the film has practically begun. We were eventually allowed in at 6:37, granted a generous 30 seconds of lighting to locate our “freshly cleaned” seats—perfect for enjoying now-lukewarm nachos topped with cheese that had achieved the structural integrity of masonry.
Truly diabolical.
As a final flourish, the Sprite was flat. I ventured back out 15 minutes into the film to have it replaced, only to find staff deep in conversation behind the counter, seemingly unbothered by the apocalyptic state of the surrounding area. When I mentioned the issue, I was advised—helpfully—that I should try the middle pump, as that one “works much better.” A valuable insider tip, if not exactly the service one hopes for.
Needless to say, I won’t be returning. A disappointing experience, particularly for an industry that can ill afford to repel the few patrons it still manages to attract.