
I went to see Project Hail Mary today, and while driving there, I got to thinking about how late I was, and whether my seat would still be empty and not taken up by someone else. It was a great movie by the way, among other things, a genuinely fun buddy comedy about two very different beings trying to cooperate across an almost total communication gap using fundamental math, time and the concepts of physics and chemistry to learn each other’s languages. I totally recommend it. But coming back to my pre-movie ruminations, would my seat still be empty? And if now, how would I respond.
Before we dive in further, I’ll add a disclaimer, I have always been fascinated by the economics of the movies business’s and almost a decade ago during the short-lived heydays of Moviepass, I tried to convince one of my IO professors in grad school that it would be a great theory paper to write. Mind you, I was in an applied micro program but my intuition and the skeleton framework I had put together turned out to be true, Moviepass was unsustainable and the only way the system would work if it was able to both sell our data at a substantial price and also partner/team-up with a specific theatre chain and capture a portion of the market. But I digress, let’s come back to today’s issue.
Playing out a probably scenario in my head before I am confronted by it is what I do. And just because I reserved a great seat (I am picky about good viewing angles and the right row and will pick a different showtime and smaller screen just to get a better angle), I knew there was not a guarantee I would find it waiting for me. So there I was, driving and thinking about who actually owns the seat I was sitting in, and what would happen if someone (me) showed up to claim it and there was someone else sitting in it.
A few years ago, buying a movie ticket was quite simple. You paid, you walked in, you picked an empty seat. First come first served. The Southwest Airlines rules (I know they have recently changed their own rules now). If you came early, you got to line up and pick the best seats. Today the whole experience is a lot different. You buy online, you select Row F, Seat 12 at the time of purchase, and that seat is in principle yours to sit on when you show up. You can even time it perfectly so you skip the ads (and even the trailers if you wanted to) and slip into your seat just as the movie starts. Reserved seating reduces uncertainty, eliminates the scramble for good spots, and makes coordination easier for groups – back in the day, you would have to meet up 20-30 minutes ahead of time and you still might not be seated together. These are genuine improvements in the consumer experience. Of course this allows movie theaters the ability to do what JetBlue, Delta, American and all the other airlines have begun doing – charge higher prices for better seats, make it a premium product, and extract more consumer surplus. What economists call price discrimination. But that is a rant for another day.
No, instead let’s focus on the simpler and nicer version of the story – the one where I don’t pay extra for reserving a good seat ahead of time. Embedded in this wonderful change is quite the interesting trifecta of economic ideas – clearly defined property rights, an enforceable contract, and the persistent, underappreciated role of transaction costs and how they interact to reach the final outcome. The interesting question isn’t whether you have the right to your seat (you do, that is the agreement between you and the movie theater). No, the interesting question becomes whether you’ll actually do anything about it if someone else is sitting there.
And lo and behold, I had to answer that exact question today as I had guessed I might have to, being a couple of minutes late.

