Cinema isn’t cheap anymore

opinion / Columns Columns Young Blood Cinema isn’t cheap anymore By: Mark Luther P. Saturion - @inquirerdotnet Philippine Daily Inquirer / 05:10 AM July 29, 2026 Share: The first thing you notice is not the screen, but the price. It waits for you before the lights dim, before the trailers begin, before the movie even has a chance to speak.

Printed neatly on the kiosk, it asks a quiet question: How much are you willing to give up just to sit in the dark for hours? When I was younger, my grandmother would talk about going to the movies as if it were an ordinary thing. Something you didn’t have to plan for.

Article continues after this advertisement “Barato ra kaayo sauna,” she would say. “Maski kinsa, makatan-aw (It was cheap back then. Anyone could watch).”

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You lined up, bought a ticket, shared snacks, and went home replaying scenes in your head. The price did not decide who belonged inside. Now, going to the movies feels like a calculation.

Recently, my friends and I went to the cinema together. We stood in front of the ticket booth, joking loudly while quietly counting our money. When we finally bought the tickets, there was relief but also hesitation.

At the concession stand, the prices spoke for themselves. Popcorn in BBQ and cheese flavors, the ones we used to fight over, had suddenly become a luxury. Gummies, Potato Corner fries, and other small snacks that once made the experience complete were now out of reach.

Article continues after this advertisement We looked at each other, and quietly, one of us whispered, “Pautanga sa ko bes, bih, bayran ra taka (Let me borrow from you, friend, I’ll pay you back).” It was never about shame, just survival. We pooled our small funds for snacks we could barely afford after paying for fare and tickets.

The smell of popcorn, warm and buttery, filled the air. It teased us, a reminder of what the experience used to mean. The sweet aroma of caramel mingled with the salty crunch of cheese popcorn, the faint tang of BBQ seasoning lingering in the theater.

We laughed and nudged each other, sharing the small bucket carefully, counting kernels like tiny treasures. Watching a movie has always been more than just watching. It was the sharing, reaching into the same bucket, whispering reactions, bonding while the story unfolded.

That part now feels optional, trimmed away by cost. You pay for the seat, and everything else becomes negotiable. The joy of snacking together, teasing over flavors, laughing while feeding each other popcorn—those were the details that made the memory.

Now, they are luxuries, sidelined in favor of just entering the theater. Article continues after this advertisement They give out free water now. A small mercy, perhaps but also a quiet confession.

That after paying for a ticket, there is little left to offer. The popcorn, gummies, fries: these cinema food that once completed the experience has become optional: affordable only if you planned for it. Watching a movie is no longer about indulging; it is about enduring.

This is not about wanting more. It is about what has slowly been taken away. Cinema used to be one of the few places where stories were shared equally.

You sat beside strangers, all paying roughly the same amount to feel something together. Today, that equality feels fragile. The price filters who come in comfortably and who must settle for just the screen—no extras, no space for enjoyment beyond the bare minimum.

My grandmother once shook her head and said, “Karon, mura’g kinahanglan pa nimo magpili: sine o pagkaon.” (Now, it feels like you have to choose: movies or food.) She said it lightly, almost joking.

But the truth lingered. Her words echo in my mind each time we pool our money, each time we whisper about who can cover the extra pesos just to buy a small bucket of popcorn. She did not complain about prices when she was younger; she simply noted the fairness in access.

Today, fairness feels distant. We talk often about supporting films and keeping cinema alive. But love alone cannot carry it.

Culture cannot survive if experiencing it feels like a sacrifice. People do not stop going to the movies because they no longer care—they stop because caring has become expensive. When the credits rolled, my friends and I stayed seated, talking about the film and scenes we liked.

We made do without popcorn, gummies, or fries, as we always do. Still, I noticed the quiet discomfort in our jokes, the way we avoided glancing at the concession stands and whispered about borrowing coins from one another. Even among friends, the cost cast a shadow over the joy.

But as we walked out of the theater, I couldn’t stop thinking about who wasn’t there. About how many people chose to stay home—not because they didn’t want to watch, but because they had already counted what it would cost.