Forget for a moment, if you can, Big Papi’s fall from batting grace; the balancing act facing David Cameron, the new British prime minister; the pope’s problems with sin and scandal; or the fallout from the unpronounceable Icelandic volcano.

Instead, focus on something really important. This column, if you persevere in reading it, will reveal a sure-fire stratagem for dealing with one of the ranking social problems of our era.

I refer, of course, to the odious habit of talking in movie theaters.

All across America, moviegoers insist on behaving as if they were in the privacy of their own dens, bedrooms, or living rooms. Instead of allowing others to follow, in peace, the film as it unfolds, they must continue their chatter.

Perhaps they are addicted to Netflix, a habit that makes them incapable of appreciating theaters as nature’s own place for film projection. They have thus come to regard movies as material for their own running commentary.

Until I discovered a way of dealing with them, these people used to set my teeth on edge. Helplessly, I would seethe in anger as they did their best to spoil my cinematic pleasure.

Their mindless (or even mindful) chatter would make it impossible for me to stay focused on superb actors like Emily Blunt as the young Victoria, Christopher Plummer as Tolstoy, or perhaps Sarah Jessica Parker as Carrie Bradshaw.

The chatter would sometimes last throughout the whole film. Only violent action or a deafening sound track distracted the conversationalists behind me, freeing me from listening to them.

This was the situation that impelled me to devise my foolproof response. But it took enough trial and error to win me a reputation as some kind of boorish kook.

Admittedly, my first efforts to achieve chatter-free watching were crude and unfeeling.

When still naïve, I would simply turn around and, in a voice filled with disapproval, tell people to shut up. You would surely sympathize with the embarrassment felt by my wife and my daughter when they were with me.

Sometimes, this approach worked but, more often, like an ineffective medication designed to relieve pain, it wore off after a short time. And it attracted unfair criticism of my actions from the malefactors who did not understand that mine was the voice of reason.

My second-stage remedy was not much of an improvement. This ploy was to try and intercept them before they got going. So, if they had been talking during the previews (semi-allowable, even by my standards), I would ask them: “Do you plan to talk once the film starts?”

I assumed an air of authority so that the talkers would understand they would suffer more trouble from me if they persisted. Severity, I still felt in this second stage, could perhaps achieve the silence I craved.

Alas, the results from this approach proved not appreciably better. Clearly, were there to be any hope of reform, I would have to find another approach.

That’s when I hit upon the ultimate answer to the problem. The key, it turned out, was not to say anything about the conduct of the people who were doing the talking. Criticizing them, not only offended their sensibilities but put their backs up.

Instead, my approach would emphasize my own feelings. I have taken to saying: “I’m having trouble following this movie.”

You would be surprised how well it works. That’s all it takes to dissuade them from talking. This formula reduces them to silence immediately while they ponder the meaning of what you have said.

The beauty of it comes in your not having said a word about them explicitly. You have not badmouthed any of their actions. Yet they get the point.

This approach takes advantage of modern psychology. People are oriented toward feelings, even yours. They care about your being in a psychic place where you cannot enjoy the movie.

There remains another movie theater problem, however, at least for people of my sensitivity. That, of course, is the sound of chomping on popcorn. It makes me look around carefully before sitting down, so as to establish maximum distance from the chompers.

Last year, after buying a ticket for a marvelous war film, “The Hurt Locker,” I found myself behind a fat fellow who bore not one but two teeming cardboard containers of popcorn. You can imagine my desperate search for a popcorn-free zone, far from this looming menace.

If he had been in the seat behind me, I would have had no recourse. Effective as it is with talkers, my method does not work with chompers. Loud food is apparently more acceptable than loud talk.

If you, dear reader, hold an effective approach to the popcorn problem, please let me know. For my part, I will try to think of a reward for your solution, so beneficial to movie connoisseurs of my ilk.