Thursday, December 19, 2019

When I get to the cinema entrance, a man inside opens the door just enough to say “No admittance for fifteen more minutes.” I shrug and lean against the wall outside. A moment later he returns, rolling a cart of 3D glasses to the ticket stand. He opens the door wider this time. “But since you’re already here, welcome.” He takes my ticket, tears it, and hands me the stub and a pair of glasses. “Theater 2.” I’m the first one in the theater. I find my seat, though the diagram online was completely wrong. I’m halfway up, on the aisle, which I like. From my seat, I am surrounded by a muted chorus of air conditioning systems. A maze of hisses and pitches comes from in front of me and from the sides. Some are so soft that they seem to pulse in rhythm with my heartbeat in my ears. Soundtracks from the movies in adjacent theaters pop and rumble at a similar level, playing an unpredictable bass line under the whisper of the machines. When the rest of the audience arrives, they’re preceded by the strong scent of popcorn. Only a couple of dozen people come in. Many are excited. Some have been waiting for this moment for 42 years. A moving picture pops into view, followed by sound. Time for commercials, trailers, reminders, and, finally, the movie.