With the unwelcome news of many cinemas once again shuttering, I’ve spent much of this week thinking about what cinemas are. What they mean to me, to you, to us. Maybe it’s easier to start with what they’re not. And what they’re not is buildings that show films. Four walls, a roof, a floor and a small room with a projector. How can that possibly cover what it is to go to the pictures?
For some, they’re a refuge, for others a church. A place of safety, of celebration, communion, of community. Where we sit – or sat, once upon a time – shoulder-to-shoulder with strangers with whom we share nothing more than a thirst for films. And walking through the doors of the cinema is like coming upon water. The excitement, the expectancy. The moment when you’re sat in your precisely chosen seat (middle row, middle seat, now that you ask), and the house lights dim. There’s a half-second when it’s just the darkness, you, and the beat of anticipation before the film flickers into life. And I honestly think it’s the closest you can get to magic.
For me, they’re places in which I’ve laughed (When Harry Met Sally); shouted (Room); gasped (Planet Terror); screamed involuntarily (Saint Maud); fallen in love (True Romance) and wept until my face, clothes and seat were wet (God’s Own Country).
They’re places that have become home, regardless of location. Whether in Los Angeles, Berlin, Amsterdam or Austin, I buy a ticket to a screening in the local cinema, take a seat and know that I’m back where I belong.
Hibernation is not forever. Spring _will_ come, the screens will once more light up.
People talk about escapism, but I prefer to talk of transportation. That’s what seeing a film in the cinema does: immerses and transports you from your seat in your town in your country, to villages and vistas and planets (and yes, galaxies) far from your own. Into the shoes, the skin of others. Into stories your imagination can barely hold. And when it’s over, we stagger back out into the light, a little changed. Always, always, a little changed.
So now the fear is that once the doors are closed and the seats emptied, they become just the thing I’m adamant they’re not: buildings that once upon a time showed films. But as a very wise friend said this week: cinemas aren’t gone. They’re just in hibernation. And while many multiplexes will this weekend close temporarily and others may follow, there are picturehouses open. If you feel able, go to those places. Or if you don’t, support them, show them what they mean to you, to us.
For while hibernation is essential for surviving the cold and the darkness, it’s not forever. Spring will come, the screens will once more light up. And we’ll get to feel that half-second of magic once more and know: we’re home.
READ MORE: How to help your local cinema