On 12 September, cinema owners across the country will mark National Cinema Day with a collective flourish. At a late-August press conference announcing the event, industry heads were deliberately coy about the specifics, offering only vague promises that the mystery treat would be “worth the wait.”

If standard promotional playbooks are any guide, my guess is that the surprise will be free or heavily discounted tickets — perhaps even a buy-one-get-one scheme wrapped in the shiny foil of industry celebration. The overarching goal is clear: lure Filipinos back into the cool, dark sanctuary of the multiplex and rekindle a dormant love affair with the big screen.

It is a noble, romantic gesture, yes. But I wonder if it is still in step with modern reality.

I say this as a cinephile whose entire profession revolves around watching and dissecting moving images. We all miss the return of the “magic,” but maybe we are chasing a phantom?

We are nostalgic for an era of unreserved seating, sticky aisle floors, and packed houses erupting in unison at a horror jump-scare — that sacred Cinema Paradiso ideal where a room full of strangers breathes as one.

But, unfortunately, nostalgia is not a substitute for a viable business strategy.

That audiences forgot how much they love the movies is not entirely true, of course. Consumers haven’t abandoned the ritual of leaving the house; they have merely raised the barrier of entry.

We willingly shell out premium prices for live theater and musicals because no high-definition pro-shot can replicate the raw, physical presence of a stage actor. We trek to film festivals like Cinemalaya or QCinema because independent and arthouse cinema operate on a strict timer of limited accessibility. And the masses show up for the occasional studio tentpole because pop culture demands real-time participation.

For ordinary commercial movies, though, the reason to go to the cinema has become harder to justify.

The gap between a theatrical premiere and a streaming debut has shrunk to a matter of weeks. Meanwhile, the average Filipino worker navigating abysmal public transit, stagnant wages, and rising living costs is forced to make brutal calculations about their free time.

Imagine, after a soul-crushing commute on the LRT, having to spend money on an overpriced movie ticket, popcorn, and a seat in a mall cinema. That hardly feels like an easy luxury — but another expense to think twice about.

Against that backdrop, the glowing six-inch screen in a commuter’s hand is undefeated. Mobile devices offer instant, zero-friction escapism. Algorithms deliver hyper-personalized comedy, vertical dramas, and short-form commentary at no extra cost, requiring zero logistics and zero travel time.

For a culture trying to survive day-to-day, convenience will beat the “communal experience” every single time.

If my prediction is right and the National Cinema Day treat turns out to be free movie tickets, that free pass is no different from your friend treating you to a movie or getting a complimentary media ticket: nice for the recipient on Sunday, entirely irrelevant to their habits by Wednesday.

A one-day pass cannot change people’s habits overnight. National Cinema Day may generate a temporary bottleneck at the box office — but not a permanent change in human behavior.

I still personally cherish the unique sanctity of a dark room and a giant screen. I love finding my tribe at film festivals and arguing about cinema in theater lobbies late into the night. But hoping a brief promotional event can gently pause two decades of technological progress and economic reality isn’t quite optimism. In fact, dare I say, it feels a bit like denial? I believe that no amount of a free ticket with a bucket of popcorn will save an industry that hesitates to adapt to the changing world outside its lobby doors.