SAINTS PRESERVE US

Deliver Us

Years ago, before Hollywood devolved into a chum factory of sequels, when black and white television could not compete with it for eyeballs, most suburban households had a set of TV trays. Though eating in front of the television didn’t really compare to going to the movies, it nonetheless made for a pretty special evening. The meals of choice were Swanson TV dinners.

The menu was somewhat limited, fried chicken or leathery beef in brown gravy. The sides consisted of a vegetable, corn or peas and diced carrots, and salty whipped potatoes. Dessert was two forkfuls of mystery fruit cobbler, usually red. Each serving was neatly tucked into its own compartment on a foil tray which in turn was designed to nestle atop the portable furniture. God help us all, these frozen dinners were considered treats.

Naturally, some benevolent genius at Swanson decided that we could never have too much of a good thing. Subsequently the company launched a line of frozen lunches. Swanson learned quickly that it had erred in foisting sub-par inconvenience on consumers. People were not averse to heating a tin of soup and making a sandwich of their choice. That process took less time than heating the ersatz Swanson product in an oven. Their homemade sandwich tasted better. The noontime DIY efficiency promoted an inexpensive sense of accomplishment.

Theme restaurants were all the rage in the 90s. The business model was compliments of the Hard Rock Café. Sound and clever ideas will always be copied but they tend to lose their initial integrity as they’re increasingly replicated. Hard Rocks were McDonald’s for the Woodstock set, only cooler: much memorabilia, many autographs and a Dear Mr. Fantasy vibe for jukebox heroes.

Then came Planet Hollywood. Patrons were dismayed by the instant realization that they would never be seated next to Demi Moore and Bruce Willis. When they perused the prices on their menus, their eyes popped. Then they tasted the food. Suddenly a frozen Swanson TV lunch became Michelin star-worthy, cordon bleu.

There are a few take-aways from these old stories, wisdom to go, as it were. There is no economical or efficient method to simplify simplicity. People derive pleasure from completing an uncomplicated task. Making a sandwich is far less daunting than another week at work or writing a novel. Novelty itself has a short shelf life. And finally, most people are savvy enough to deke being gouged, to pay too much for too little.

Last week Cineplex, a cinema chain, announced an alliance with Uber Eats. Film buffs in certain Canadian markets will now be able to have movie theatre popcorn and other snacks such as nachos and hot dogs delivered to their homes to enhance their Netflix binge experience. What’s wrong with this moving picture?

There’s a reason why people sneak their private stashes of snacks into movie theatres.  They’re not misers. It’s because concession-stand fare is drastically overpriced. Nor is the food available particularly good. Cineplex is dreaming in Technicolor if it expects film fans who already avoid its theatres to order its lousy, costly snacks to their homes and pay a delivery surcharge on top.

The other flaw in the Cineplex scheme is obvious. Ten minutes is about all it takes for anybody to cook a hot dog, heat a tray of nachos or prepare a bowl of popcorn. If one is prepared to spend two passive hours watching a screen, one can spare ten minutes to eliminate delivery waiting time, save money and enjoy better food. Cineplex executives are counting on a Hollywood ending for their grand experiment, but they forgot the Planet part.

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