Island Town's Cinema

By J.V.H.

TWICE a week our town dutifully goes to the Cinema. It is the same programme both nights, but as our pleasures are few and far between, we take what kind Providence gives us and thank Her. Simple folk we are, and we laugh, sigh, cry and chew peanuts in the same places, twice.

In our town audience-participation has reached a degree of perfection. With a business eye to the Asiatic and native population, who make up the bulk of the audience potential, the management usually screen pictures of the blood and thunder type and the audience reacts to them in a way marvellous to behold, not to mention hear.

The theatre is a flat, square building, well-ventilated by louvres along the sides, holes in the roof above and missing planks in the floor below. It is built in a hollow, at the base of three hills and when it rains the water drains right into your seat.

We go along to the cinema for three reasons: to see, to be seen, and, now and then, to watch the screen.

You simply push your money through a wire grill, receive a piece of white paper from some mysterious hand, and enter. Another hand takes the ticket from you and following a pool of torch light which bobs up and down before you, you trip across oustretched legs, crunch through acres of peanut shells and finally collapse into your seat.

As the floor is flat, you have to pick your seat with some consideration as to

the height of the person sitting in front of it. If you are taller than he it doesnt matter as much to you as it does to the person behind you. But if the patron before you has his head and shoulders over you, you have a miserable night in front of you. It is also impossible to settle into your seat and let it go at that. If the person in the front row moves, the whole movement must be re layed through to the last person in the back row.

The show is always scheduled to begin “at eight SHARP! ' But only to keep up appearances—nobody ever arrives before quarter past.

About twenty past, those lights which have not already gone out of their own accord, are switched off and a loud bell summons drinkers in from the bar. There is no hush of expectancy, rather does the conversation become louder.

There is no wraithlike curtain to part the shadows and reveal a silver screen.

Rather is there a rasping noise and the mad flight of sundry ropes hither and yon as dyed hessian parts jerkily to reveal a stretch of white, or off-white, which is the screen.

The theatre is plunged into darkness as with as little ceremony as possible the entertainment is begun. r Sensational news items of seven years ago enthrall us. “TOMORROW’S

Entertainment To-Day” Bravely

goes the blurb. “THE WORLD’S HEAD LINES,” screams the screen. We sit fascinated, overcome by the majesty of events in the outside world. The news reel pursues its relentless course until its last few feet scatter themselves in a mad rush before our eyes. The newsreel is over. The lights go on again, and we, keyed to untold heights of concentration, blink our eyes in the glare.

There is a minute’s respite while the operator behind us prepares his machine to show us the feature film of the night.

This is chapter one of Texas Tim of the Badlands.

The audience goes mad with delight.

As the image of the actors and act resses/ and the role he or she portrays in the promised drama, is flashed before our eager eyes there are cheers or whistles or plain boos according to the popularity of the character. It is all very chummy.

The introductions over, the scenes of Chapter One begin to unroll themselves.

Before one hundred feet of film is gone there are three murders, three railway disasters and at least fifteen narrow escapes. The plot literally moves along the path of corpses, wrecked bridges, barrels of dynamite, scalp hunting Indians and mayhem.

We are sick with apprehension as a circular saw saws its circular way toward the midriff of a captive maiden when there is a series of explosions from the operator’s box, and chapter one collapses in a state of complete abandon. “Don’t miss next week. Will Daphne’s screams reach the ears of Texas Tim?”

“Scream louder. Daphne,” yells the audience. Will Texas Tim stop fooling around with that bear cub and race to her rescue? week, and next week alone, can provide the answers.

Until the next cinema night Daphne’s exploits will be a major topic of con versation among us. Texas Tim will be blamed for his mistakes and better things will be expected of him in Chapter Two.

As I said, we are a simple folk, and we take our pleasures seriously. We go home satisfied and the evening is a success.