Source: The Guardian
Translator: Issac
Proofreader: Onegin
From the most dirty, dilapidated night in a movie theater to a mesmerizing screening under the stars, filmmakers and critics recall the shared excitement of going to a movie theater.
"You have to sit where the tramp didn't pee."
Mike Lee
When I was a poor kid, Euston had a Tolmer Cinema, the cheapest cinema in London, even cheaper than anywhere else — two shillings for a ticket. It's a converted church, dirty and messy, but also eclectic. This cinema can find any movie, it will show any movie, old and new.
Leopard – original film with no subtitles; Hell's Mechanical Dance; Rashomon; Swedish Bastard (tentative translation, Svenska Flickor I Franska Sexorgier).
The Leopard (1963)
Some copies are incomplete, and they will suddenly jump to other films randomly, and the projector may also catch fire. Wonderful. It's like taking a movie class. But you have to sit where the tramp hasn't peed.
"A spear was thrown from the back of the crowd and nailed to the screen."
Tilda Swinton
It was 1980. A sheet hangs from a tree in the middle of a village in Kitui, Kenya. It was a poor quality Western, and the projector and generator were even worse. These are all brought by two old guys from Nairobi who tour from Somalia to Tanzania every two years. Hundreds of spectators gathered from far away.
In the middle of the bar shootout, a spear is thrown from the back of the crowd right in the middle of the villain's chest and dangled in the middle of the sheet until the romantic hug at the end of the film. It's unforgettable. The magical cinema in the dream is deeply shocking to us anytime and anywhere - to set out for the stars and return, endlessly. It's awe-inspiring.
"There's no hint of fast food"
Ken Lodge
I'm not going to talk about some moment of ecstasy, but the story of the first three cinemas of half a century. Nunidon Theatre is an old juggling theatre, and I've heard of livestock on its faded velvet seats. In any case, for teenagers who are about to reach adulthood, quietly watching French movies like "Erotic Roulette" is fleeing from the industrialized central region to an exotic world.
Erotic Wheel Dance (1964)
Then there's the Phoenix Theatre in Oxford in the late fifties, with films by Ingmar Bergman and Andrey Vajda, and the first splash of the French New Wave. Finally, there was the Academy on Oxford Street in London, where we enjoyed the Czech films of the sixties together: "The Watched Train", "The Blonde's Love" and so on. These are cinemas with fond memories – and without a hint of fast food!
"My heart is always hanging"
Steve McQueen
The first time I went to the cinema was to see Seven Dragons at Hammersmith Theatre in London. I remember my hand touching the edge of the wall and being surprised to find a blanket on the wall. West Indians and Westerns have deep roots, so watching that movie with my father was a big deal. The film is incredible; the noise of sound and imagery is astonishing. My heart kept hanging.
The Seven Dragons (1960)
I also have to talk about the Lumiere Cinema on St Martin's Lane twenty years ago (the underground cinema in central London, now a gym) that replayed North by North West in the afternoon. You'll descend three or four flights of stairs, feel disconnected from real life in London, and then find yourself in this gorgeous oval space, like in the chest of a whale.
Alfred Hitchcock created the film for the audience. He orchestrated their exclamations and screams, when to lean forward and when to shrink back. It's not the same as watching a movie at home, you're not sitting on the couch and you're distracted by the phone, the doorbell, or the go-to get a drink. The place was full of energy, and at the end everyone stood up and applauded; just like I did when I watched Slumdog Millionaire in the spotlight theater in Los Angeles.
North by Northwest (1959)
Can you imagine what it's like to ride a roller coaster alone? Most of the time you're with other people and everyone is excited. That's where it gets exciting. There's nothing better than witnessing a story with other people. This is a collective thing, a testament to human nature. I just desperately want people to go back to the cinema. Otherwise it's too painful. I don't want this experience to go away forever – I'm definitely not alone.
"I want to always remember how I felt in that moment"
Emma Thompson
When I watched Superman in 1978. It was a huge movie theater. We were 17 years old. The movie is exciting, funny, and full of twists and turns. But the rarest thing is that the heroine is as funny and inspiring as the male protagonist, although she can't fly alone. When I leave the cinema, I want to always remember how I felt in that moment.
Superman (1978)
"In the darkness, between strangers, I have completely changed"
Sarah Polly
When I was 20 years old, I watched "The Thin Red Line" at a movie theater in Toronto, Canada. I entered the theater in frustration as an aggressive atheist and felt that working in the film industry was a superficial thing to do. When I left the theater, I seemed to understand the meaning of faith, I was no longer sad, I hoped to make my own film one day. In the dark cinema, between strangers, I was completely changed.
The Thin Red Line (1998)
"The whole theater lit up with a pale blue glow. It's intoxicating."
Steve Coogan
I remember one night in October, my mother took me and a few friends to the local dilapidated theater to celebrate my 10th birthday, and we watched "007 You Die And I Live" and "The Queen's Secret Envoy of 007" in one sitting. I get goosebumps when I think about it now. It was as if we had come to a cloudless swamp and seen a thrilling speedboat chase, followed by George Lazabe and Diana Rigg skiing in the Swiss Alps with the best soundtrack from John Barry.
007 You Die And Live (1973)
The whole theater lit up with a pale blue glow. Intoxicating. My mother was asleep. How could she do that? I still remember the shock of reality brought about by the cold, damp night when I walked out of the theater. It's a silly movie, but that childhood excitement has always been with me.
A well-conceived story, a cinematic experience, it's all unique. In those two hours, you can give people a deep experience, make them question themselves, make them cry, make them laugh, cheer them up, let them see hope.
"We've read books, we can't be frightened."
Edgar Wright
My entire career has been trying to replicate the various climaxes I've experienced in movies. I'll never forget a movie-watching experience at a local cinema in Somerset, when I happened to watch the 15+ Pokemon at the age of 10 that afternoon.
The Elf (1984)
My brother and I went to the theater manager with the Pokemon novel and explained that we had read the book and that it was impossible to be intimidated by a real movie. Surprisingly, he let us in. I was so excited when I watched the movie and thought I might be thrown out, and I never had such excitement. I'm still pursuing that excitement.
"A pure form of human-to-human communication, rooted in desire, myth and magic"
Laszlo Nemesh
Over the past 10 years, television screens have been installed in movie theaters, which has largely obliterated the real experience of actually showing movies, and I am increasingly nostalgic for the restored copy of Barry Linden that I saw more than 10 years ago.
Barry Linden (1975)
It's really heartfelt and thought-provoking, and at the same time, for me, it proves once again the appeal of a craft-based work that is made on a material level, where every edit is thoroughly thought through. There is no place for computers, only a pure form of human-to-human communication, rooted in desire, myth and magic.
"You can hear the film clicking on the sprocket"
Michael Winterburton
When I was 15 or 16 years old, I found out there was a film association in Blackburn, Lancashire. It screens movies once a week in a small room on the top floor of the library. To be honest, I don't remember what the first film I saw there was, I remember they curated a German film festival, so the first one I watched was probably Reiner Werner Fassbinder's Fear Eats Souls, or Wim Wenders' Alice in the City or Werner Herzog's The Mystery of Kaspar Hauzel.
Fear Eats The Soul (1974)
The films were screened on a 16mm projector in the room, so you could hear the film clicking on the sprocket. After each roll of film, there is a pause, the lights come on, and someone in the audience stands up and picks up a roll of film. Sitting next to you with a projectionist, this creates a simple, mechanical, and magical feel—low-budget, live-action shooting, often starring non-professional actors who seem both familiar and unfamiliar, simple but with meaning they feel unexplained.
"Total madness and joy"
Whit Stillman
One of the best experiences was at the Storm King Theater in Cornwall on the Hudson River in New York, when an all-cartoon children's day show before Christmas was being screened. At that time, the art of cinema had reached its peak—utter madness and joy. At the Orson Wells Cinema near Harvard, my brother, who was a projectionist, would stitch together Bugs Bunny: it was the superstar of theater manager Larry Jackson, and it sparked a cartoon movie craze.
Then came the war movies I watched with my father: The Longest Day, 55 Days in Beijing, and the Zulu War at the luxurious Standard Theater in Bar Harbor, Maine, on a summer boat trip. I watched delightful foreign movies with my mother, such as Classic Cars, Kindness and The Crown and Italian Divorce.
The Longest Day (1962)
But in 1971, I saw two films at the Harvard Square Theater that set the stage for my career: François Truffaut's Married Life and Eric Houmai's Claire's Knee.
"Cinema must be the headlights of our new society"
Francis Ford Coppola
During these difficult times, people are afraid and eager for what they call a "return to normal." But who now would say the most important question is how much money do we make or how much are we worth? Nothing is more important than the health and safety of our loved ones, universal education, justice and care for our common home, the planet.
Perhaps the role that now needs to play the role of social "headlights" is that of artists, especially film artists: expressing themes and principles to stimulate and change the priorities that we have long held on to. "Where are we going?" Novalis said. "The answer is always our home."
"I can barely breathe"
Tracia Tuttler (Artistic Director, London Film Festival)
Watching a good movie on any platform is a pleasure. However, the vast majority of my vividest movie-watching memories are those of me and others watching flickering lights and shadows in a dark room, immersed in stories. I watched Peter Jackson's Angel of Iniquity in a small, three-screen independent theater in a suburban shopping mall.
Angels of Sin (1994)
When teenage Juliet and Pauline fell in love, I was drawn to their fanatical, obsessive private world and could barely breathe; it was a completely immersive experience where Jackson and Kate Winslet dictated my every heartbeat while the film dragged me to a brutal ending. I know the end is inevitable. Pauline's account already told me. But fear overwhelmed me. A path through woods and rocks. The terrible thing was over, the lights were on, but almost no one left the cinema.
I was suddenly overwhelmed by all the emotions pollin must have felt—suddenly lost and at the same time clear-headed, heartbroken by remorse. I sat in the fully lit movie theater and cried with strangers.
"Bats Skimming the Moonlight"
Cameron Bailey (Artistic Director, Toronto Film Festival)
I had watched Oprah Winfrey at the Roy Thomson Hall at the Toronto Film Festival, where there were 2,000 people in the concert hall, dizzying; people whispered because Amidap Baguard was sitting among us. But I will never forget the Pan African Film Festival (Ouagadougou Pan African Film and Television Festival). In Burkina Faso, I sat in an open-air cinema with hundreds of people while bats swept through the moonlight and the bright screen bathed us in the local fragrance. We became a whole.
"I'm scared by the dirty seats."
Peter Bradshaw (Guardian film critic)
In 1985, when I was 22, I was working in New York. One night, I boldly went alone to the Waverley Theatre in Greenwich Village to see a movie called Blood Labyrinth. Although I was a timid English country mouse, I was intimidated by the dirty, hard seats, sticky carpets, and a handful of spectators.
Labyrinth of Blood (1984)
Then, the film itself was even more intimidating — and at the same time it left me immersed and haunted. When the sinister bar owner, played by Dan Hadaya, vomited a gallon of blood, I felt the blood already flowing off the screen, stating up on the creepy muddy floor at my feet. The film is very scary, and it merges with the movie itself in my mind. When I returned to the creepy Cohen-esque Warwick Hotel, I fully realized how wonderfully glorious that experience had been.
"She sat at the stall next to me — bare-chested, wearing jewelry and veils."
David Thomson (Guardian film critic)
In 1949, when I was 8 years old, I watched Samson and Dalila in Granada, Tutin: I was not impressed with religion, but I was afraid of haircuts. So I was afraid that Victor Matcher was holding the golden scissors while his hair fell to the ground and made a noise.
Then Dalila came and sat down at the stall next to me—bare-chested, wearing jewelry and veils, with a disgusting smell of perfume. Miss Rama looked at me and whispered sinisterly, "Don't be afraid, honey." No, this cannot happen. But years later, when it was discovered that Heidi could also invent electronically, I wasn't surprised.
Samson and Dalila (1949)
"I was surprised to close my mouth."
Hadley Freeman (Guardian writer and columnist)
The must-see movie of August 1991 was, of course, Terminator 2. So, inspired by that five-star film review in Empire magazine, my life guide at the time, I headed to the Odeon Theatre on Kensington High Street. The cinema was packed with people. I'm not surprised. After all, Empire once said the movie was important. Empire is right. When the T-1000 passed through the iron fence, I was really surprised and couldn't keep my mouth shut.
Terminator 2 (1991)
The stunt effects created by James Cameron impressed me entirely — quite literally — with that. Since then, I've watched a lot of movies and watched a lot of CGI. But nothing compares to seeing the movie on the big screen for the first time. I felt as if I had just witnessed the birth of the first sound film. In a way, I do.
"An out-of-control stroller gallops down"
Shan Brooks (Guardian film critic)
In the 180s, 180 Cinemas was a playground attraction in Surrey County Thorpe Park. I took a school trip when I was 13 years old. You stand under the dome and stare at the surrounding screen. It's like a subjective shot shot from the front of a roller coaster or ski helmet. The purpose of this is to immerse myself in the experience; I am completely immersed in it. In the finale, an out-of-control stroller sped down the hill onto a busy main road. A truck braked at the last minute. It was so shocking that I fell to the ground face down.
"You can almost feel the air disappearing."
Anne Pilsen (Guardian film critic)
I've seen Jack Clayton's 1961 film Innocent Man on TV, videotape and DVD, but I never actually saw it until Brussels Film Tech put it on the big screen in 2015.
The Innocent (1961)
For the first time, I truly appreciated Freddie Francis's superb black-and-white photography technique, perfect widescreen composition, and beautiful deep-focus photography – all designed to scare you off. So, when the ghost appeared in the window behind Miss Giddens, you could almost feel the air disappear and all the spectators gasping in unison. This is the movie Nirvana.
"Applause erupted from both smoking and non-smoking areas"
Ryan Gilbey (Guardian film critic)
When Indiana Jones in Raiders of the Lost Ark slowly killed the swordsman, the audience at Essex Harlow O'Dean Theater applauded wildly: everyone in the smoking area on the left side of the theater and the non-smoking area on the right applauded wildly in the blue smoke. It was a weekend night in the early 1980s, and I was an 11-year-old kid, and I was stunned. I've never heard applause in a movie theater. I generally don't like that. Unless the director is on set, restrain yourself. But that time was different—it was an uncontrollable, heartfelt joy. Remember that?
Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981)
"People were screaming, crying, clutching each other for comfort."
Stuart Harry Tez (Contributor to The Guardian)
I watched Kill Bill in a packed theater in the UK, and it was shown in silence. Two weeks later, I came to Korea. I watched the sequel in Korea. The difference is like day and night. When the film was shot in the first routine, Uma Thurman, the whole scene was chaotic. People screamed, cried, and grabbed each other for comfort until the end credits stopped. My boss later told me that she really felt like she was going to throw up. She said it as a compliment.
Kill Bill (2003)
"Scream 4 is the perfect date movie for anniversaries"
Benjamin Lee (Art Editor, The Guardian, USA)
At the age of 26, I fell in love for the first time. He was smart, handsome, hated to get in line, and most seductively, like me, he wrote fanfictions about the imaginary fourth Scream as a teenager. It was predestined. So the weekend of our first wedding anniversary, which happened to be the real fourth Scream, was fun and lucky. My friends laughed at me for not having much experience in relationships, but for us, we were obsessed with this horror movie series when we were younger and it felt like the perfect date.
Scream 4 (2011)
It was indeed a perfect date. Not only is there the excitement of reuniting with the characters we grew up with, but we also know that we are all as excited about each other as each other. In my teenage years, I was used to watching movies alone, so it was a great consolation to hold hands with him in an overpriced, horribly sparsely populated movie theater on a warm spring evening, deeply indulging in a series of vicious and deadly stabs.
"I wasn't ready for full immersion trauma"
Andrew Pulver (Deputy Editor of The Guardian)
Attending a film festival can be a chore when you stumble through screening after screening after screening — but they can also surprise you, especially when you're usually watching films that you know almost nothing about, or even expect less. For example, the "Mexican dog movie" was later named "Love is a Dog Lady" and became a sensation; or the super violent Brazilian gangster incident became the "City of God" that everyone sees now; the director who made "Death Code" also brought a new work - the essentially crazy "Requiem for Dreams" written by Hubert Selby Jr. But what impresses me to this day is the premiere of "Son of Saul" in Cannes in 2015.
Son of Thor (2015)
I vaguely knew it was about Auschwitz, but I wasn't prepared for the full immersion trauma that followed, a film that unabashedly attempted to recreate the inhumane nightmare of a Nazi death camp. It was a shocking experience; I haven't recovered yet.
"Only Richard Kiel and Know"
Catherine Schoold (Guardian Film Editor)
It wasn't the best day of the trip. The wallet is almost empty. The temper is a bit grumpy. We've been away from home for a long time (two and a half weeks!). ), far away (Greece!) ) . It was a silly plan to carry a backpack all day down the Samaria Gorge in the heat of 38 degrees Celsius. You can't go back. No shade and no coffee. A man died on the boat on the way back.
Later we watched Autumn in New York at the outdoor cinema in Pacho cola. Gosh, this movie sucks, but it's perfect.
Autumn in New York (2000)
The place was rather desolate; only we, beer and Greek burritos, the Knowing and the Moon, the smug Richard Kiel, and the crazy hatt merchant played by Winona Red, were hard to believe, but suddenly fell in love with. Years later, we quoted this work. I once revisited the film, but the majesty of the gentle Cretans was gone.