Bernard O'Shea: Five things I learned from the Minecraft movie

A rainy afternoon, three kids, €57 worth of snacks, and a cinema full of clapping teens taught me more about Minecraft—and parenting—than I ever expected.

Bernard O'Shea: "Minecraft is one of those rare cultural phenomena that makes adults feel ancient and irrelevant. On the surface, it looks like a game from the 1980s got stuck in a blender with a Lego set."

When was the last time you went to the cinema by yourself? Not to bring someone, not as a ‘date night’, ‘not as an escape from soft play hell’, but just… for you?

If you’re like me — a person with children under 12 and a vague memory of enjoying peace — then it’s probably been more than a decade. The last time I went to the cinema alone, I saw There Will Be Blood. 

I remember sitting in the dark with a smug sense of cultural superiority. Little did I know that within a few years I would never be able to watch anything with more than three plot points or fewer than three animated animals singing pop songs.

Let’s be honest. The modern Irish family doesn’t go to the cinema for the ‘magic of the silver screen’. We go because it’s raining. Again. And because the indoor trampoline park is booked out.

It’s all very tactical. You prep like you’re going on a hike. You pack wipes, coins, spare clothes, treats, bottles, and back-up treats in case someone drops the first treat. The foyer becomes a war zone of sugary negotiation.

One child wants nachos, one wants popcorn, and one wants to live inside the pick’n’mix. You realise you’ve just spent €57 before sitting down.

And once you’re in? You begin the ritual. The ‘When does it start?’ chant. The ‘I need a wee’ parade — one after another, never simultaneously, like some bladder-based relay team.

There are arguments over seats, regret over the large drink. The sheer volume of the film is like a jet engine designed by Minions. But then, every so often, a moment reminds you why we do it. Why do we load them into the car and give up two hours of our lives? It’s not just for the silence, the sugar high, or the chance to scroll Instagram under the cover of darkness.

It’s because you sometimes see something that lifts the whole experience out of survival mode.

For me, that moment came during A Minecraft Movie. It wasn’t the plot. Or the graphics. Or even the laugh I got when one of the characters turned a pig into a jet ski (I may have imagined that, to be honest).

It was what was happening in the room. A group of lads — maybe 12 to 14 — started clapping, cheering, quoting lines along with the film: Not to wreck it, not for attention, but because they loved it.

They were locked in. Eyes wide. Happy out. I almost cried.

Minecraft is one of those rare cultural phenomena that makes adults feel ancient and irrelevant. On the surface, it looks like a game from the 1980s got stuck in a blender with a Lego set. There are blocky cows, floating trees. And yet, children love it. Scratch that. 

They don’t just love it, they live it. For many children, Minecraft is not a game. It’s a second home. A place where they’re in charge, where they can explore without being told, ‘Don’t climb that’ or ‘That’s not for sitting on’. It’s a world without adults — no warnings, no instructions, just possibilities. And that’s what I saw in the cinema.

The group of teenage lads clapping along weren’t just being nostalgic. They were reconnecting with a world where they have complete creative control. It’s the exact opposite of school, Irish weather, or growing up in a world full of adult expectations.

And it’s not just boys. The cinema was full of girls just as tuned in — laughing at subtle references and nudging each other during inside jokes. There was an atmosphere of… what’s the word? Shared joy, the kind that’s increasingly rare in public spaces, especially among children.

I may not know how to craft a diamond pickaxe or fend off a Creeper, but I do know this: The movie and the world it represents quietly teach a generation how to collaborate, create, and be kind.

Here’s five things I learned from the Minecraft Movie

1. Children don’t need coaxing — they need a code. They were dressed, fed, and ready before I put on socks. Minecraft has its emotional language. Mention it, and they respond like sleeper agents. It activates something.

2. Minecraft is their mythology. It matters deeply to them.

3. Instead of rowdiness, there was genuine, shared joy — children enjoying something together without self-consciousness. That’s rare, especially for boys, who are usually not encouraged to express joy openly in public.

4. The film wasn’t for me — and that’s a good thing. I didn’t get all of it. A pig turned into a submarine? Grand. But that freed me up to enjoy them enjoying it. Like the designated driver at a wedding, you get your fun from watching the madness unfold.

5. It’s not just screen time — it’s shared time. We panic about screens. But this wasn’t doomscrolling. This was a shared world. Minecraft is a door they open for you — and sometimes, you have to step through it with them.

So, no, I still don’t understand Minecraft. I don’t know what a Wither is or why you’d ever need a saddle in a game with no visible horses. But I know this: sitting beside my children while they cheered for a pixelated hero and saw their world brought to life meant something.

And, maybe, if you’re lucky, one of them will lean over halfway through the film and whisper, ‘Dad… this bit’s good.’ And, at that moment, you’ll feel like the coolest person in the cinema. Even if you still have popcorn in your shoe.