Santo Becomes A Cinema Town

By A. M. Eaton

TO the delight of the inhabitants of Santo, our very first cinema has been born among the five stores, post office and two hotels, that constitute the “township” of this section of the New Hebrides.

The idea was conceived in the fertile brain of one of our most warm-hearted and influential settlers as, every mail day, he pityingly watched our film-lovers yearning over the film programmes sent up by well-meaning friends in far-off civilisation.

A deserted Quonset hut, situated in a suggestive position on the road, with plenty of space on the seaward side was ' selected. Our benefactor informed us there was to be a bar, a dancing floor and a swimming pool. Seeing our dazed and incredulous gaze, he hastily relegated the two latter propositions into “the future.”

However, being soothed with the promise of a bar with real beer, and a “Western” for the opening night, we retired dizzily to our jeep and drove the 12 miles home, leaving our friend happily convincing the oncoming flock of disbelievers who had come to investigate the “buzz.”

In the next few weeks, with much physical and verbal assistance, the cinema steadily took shape. Only the fact that the nearest residents to the site were ardent film-lovers prevented them from complaining bitterly about the dropping of hammers, thunderous clashes of iron, and raucous Tonkinese oaths which were going on all day.

From far and wide came the island re sidents, scurrying over mountains and through plantations in their jeeps and trucks to admire, go green with envy,

or criticise according to their term* of friendliness with the proprietor That poor man was plainly regretting the dav he had ever thought of the llan He rattled frantically around in his*jeep, wfih sweat on his brow and a tear in his eye, trying to deal with the problems that arose. Among these were the electric lighting plant that systematically failed every second day; and the continued absence of the projector, that had been landed at the wrong port. The Air Com pany had laboured under the firm im pression that it could not be meant for such an out-of-the-way place as Santo.

There was excitement when the patrons were invited to make suggestions as to the first films to be selected. Friction was caused by formation of three groups, Ther e was the “Morbid” clique, who had their tongues hanging out for “Franken stein” and similar horrors; the “In tellectuals” or “Highbrow,” who held out strongly for “Hamlet” and other inspir ing epics; while the majority formed the Pro-Musical Comedy party with a marked preference for Grable and Lamour.

As the proprietor himself had an eye for the Grable legs, the two former groups were peacefully eliminated with the ex- C use that the natives wouldn’t “savvy” the “highbrow” and might “savvy” the fearful goings on in the morbid films a bit too muc h. So the “Lowbrow” group won the ay and submitted an imposing list of comedies, with Grable and Lamour triumphantly to the fore.

AT last, when the seats were in, the lighting completed, and the projector had been prised out of the grasp of

the still reluctant Air Company, the grand opening was announced, with champagne in the bar and Lamour on the screen. We sailed thoughtfully home in the jeep, wondering where on earth we were going to dig up the clothes necessary to dazzle our fellow film-goers, who, no doubt, had the same grim idea in mind.

We hardly expected the New Look to rear its ugly head up here, but with the many French ladies who had announced their future patronage of the cinema (“avec plaisir,” etc.) one didn’t quite know what to expect.

Many were the conjectures as to the success of the first night. The Anti- Glamour group was well to the fore with gloomy prophecies of an entire failure owing to the choice of the picture. (How ever, it was noticed that they had front seats on the night!).

On the fateful night, we dressed our selves in what we avidly hoped was the “New Look” —anyway as new as we could get it —miserably tied up our two dogs, and, with our three maids in tow, sallied off on the first stage of our journey, a five minutes’ row to the mainland. We had allowed ourselves two hours for the journey, knowing from bitter experience that nothing less would be sufficient to cope with the delays that never failed to be lurking on the 12-miles’ route.

We were joined by our native Corporal, who was also partaking of the delights of first night cinema going. He, too, was dressed to kill, his immaculate person adorned with a Sam Brown, an elaborate knife, an Army water bottle and several badges cascading down his sleeve; while he carried his baton, which was the pride and also the bane of his life, it being constantly in danger of getting lost or being sat upon by his fellow police.

Ten minutes later we were packed seven strong in the jeep, dusty, cross, and feel ing even less able to compete with the fashion parade looming in front of us.

For the next forty minutes we bounced bad-temperedly along the. muddy roads, berating the driver (my father) soundly as he sprayed us liberally with mud, and then when he obligingly slowed down, having another row for making us late.

WE finally arrived in the glare of the parking lights—perched elegantly on palm-trees—and drove up beside several other jeeps loaded to the hilt with a cargo of highly-scented, powdered and patched strangers who, when scrutinised in the unkind glare of the lights, proved to be our everyday acquaintances.

As we moved towards the entrance, everyone became very “company,” and made heavy inquiries as to health and movements—which, as we’d all seen each other that morning, was a little un necessary.

The road was now congested with jeeps, tooting angrily for parking space, while superior blares heralded the approach of the only two “real” cars on the island, as the local plutocracy rolled up luxuri ously.

The doorway was a mass of natives and Tonkinese all shouting excitedly, while the Europeans assembled outside, ready to perform the forward movement which, we hoped, would carry us through to the inside. Our four passengers had long since disappeared in the crush.

The beaming proprietor had encased his portly figure in the tiny ticket box, and was coping admirably with the forest of arms thrusting money into his face, fifteen minutes later every available seat was filled—natives and Tonkinese in the front and at the back, the Europeans, who had discarded their “company” manner for a more normal one.

Many eyes were wavering thirstily to wards the half-open door of the bar, through which could be seen glimpses of great activity—preparations for the in

terval crush—while an increasing clammi ness of the atmosphere indicated a great thirst would be worked up by that time.

THE lights then went off and the picture commenced—upside-down! This pro duced great hilarity, much to the confusion of the sweating operator, who could be seen tinkering anxiously with the controls in the projection box.

There were four reels to the first half.

Every twenty minutes there was a small interval when the lights were switched on and the film hastily changed. During these periods, the audience wiped their streaming eyes (the lights being rather glary) and smoked cigarettes—carefully glancing away from the notices which said “No Smoking!”

At the interval we packed like sardines into the bar and were served with champagne and beer, and free (first night) hamburgers handed round by the sweating proprietor (who now had donned an apron and was performing the office of barman). This strategic move enabled him to listen in to the comments of the show, and, as these were delivered under the influence of champagne and ham burgers, they were very encouraging.

With a triumphant burst of music from the electric pick-up, the Lamour legs dis appeared finally from the screen and the cinema was over. As we got out into the cool air—vigorously pumping the hand of the exhausted but still beaming pro prietor on the way—we felt mentally and physically satisfied, although the ham burgers were beginning to throw their weight around rather noticeably.

Climbing into our jeeps, we all agreed that it had been a huge success. How satisfactory it was to be able to yell to our friends in the surrounding vehicles, “See you at the show next week!”