The Column: Alcohol at the movies? It's a concession I'll have to make

The New York State Liquor Authority says movie theaters can sell beer and wine at concession stands and customers are free to bring beverages to their seats should they recall, after a preliminary snort or two in the multiplex lobby, which film they paid to see.

"Gee, honey, I didn’t know Spider-Man was playing Tony in ‘West Side Story.’ Yikes, sorry, you’re not my wife."

Previously, only theaters with kitchens could sell alcohol and customers were barred from carrying drinks to the auditorium. Now anything goes.

I’m not against drinking — sangria, my downfall — but, you tell me, is this a good idea?

Like most other businesses, the film industry has taken a beating during the pandemic and needs a new revenue source.

Going to the movies is one of life’s great pleasures, and I want theaters to survive. On the other hand, I would find it unsettling if doused by Bud Light during the conclusion of "Kung Fu Panda."

And, believe me, friends, spillage is certain.

It is one of the reasons I can be found only in the last row of Section 513 in the upper deck at Citi Field.

Once, I was less cautious.

"Oopsy-daisy, s’cuze me," said the delirious fellow one row back as I glumly swept suds off my shoulders and turned to find him smiling unrepentantly. "Hey, lessgo Mets, right?"

Now I sit among the pigeons.

That’s not the only worry.

Generally slow to anger and tilting toward nonviolence, I make an exception for those who consider a darkened movie hall the ideal spot for discussing spring sales at Bloomingdale’s or the inflated used-car market. For them, no mercy.

Even during coming attractions — piercing and interminable these days — I am on full alert. The couple chatting about the latest grandchild or post-theater pad thai are prime suspects for trouble during the feature.

Years ago, my wife and I were on an out-of-town trip and spotted a little artsy cinema.

Playing was a movie with the memorable title, "Jesus of Montreal," which we knew little about and left us wondering if we had missed some blockbuster religious news. Montreal? Really?

Overnight, we read a rather elegant review of the film in the local newspaper and, next day, attended the afternoon show.

Two rows ahead sat another couple. Even before the house lights dimmed, they recited — confidently, emphatically, loudly — from the critic’s appraisal as if, perhaps, they had written it.

"Compelling statement on stoicism and spiritual uncertainty," announced the man.

"Searing examination of charismatic malaise," added the woman.

Others in the audience shifted in their seats, grunted, sighed and stared, but there was no stopping our outspoken cinephiles.

"Radical approach to Biblical orthodoxy," the man abruptly declared.

"Courageous," insisted his companion. "Uncompromising."

Had they been sipping sauvignon blanc instead of Sprite? The couple might have stood and attempted the entire Sermon on the Mount.

Get ready.

You think things can be unnerving in theaters now — 20-somethings flirting across the aisle, grumpy old men complaining they can’t hear, the lost soul who cries out, "I don’t get it," every few minutes.

When the beer and wine start flowing, static is sure to increase and, I bet, snoring, too.

"Wake up, Harry. I told you the third spritzer was too much."

But, all right, maybe this is just another of those cultural checkpoints that require we keep pace, as with cryptocurrency and driverless cars.

One minute you’re buying a box of Dots at Loew’s Alpine, Fifth Avenue and 69th Street, Bay Ridge, Brooklyn. The next you’re at the popcorn stand and a clerk is asking, "Hey, can I set ’em up again?"

What can we do but — as always — hope for the best? At this age, that continues Job No. 1, yes?

Booze has been served between acts at Broadway playhouses for years and the show goes on. There is wine at the opening of art exhibits and, sometimes, tributes to the dead.

So maybe this is no big deal. Will alcohol change things at the movies? Will we be enjoying "House of Gucci" or ducking a spray of chardonnay and wishing the guy in the next row would rouse from sleep and get his adenoids checked?

We’ll see.

Small request: I hope the concession stand sells sangria.