Film
Club
I
was in the lobby of a movie theatre waiting for the film to start.
An old friend of mine showed me his entrance card. "This ticket
costs 10 euros," he advertised. "With the ticket I can see
all the autumn's shows." "But today's film is free,"
I pointed out. "It doesn't matter," my friend replied. "Then
I don't have to pay the next time either."
I
wasn't convinced of the importance of the serial ticket, as I had
no intention to see all the autumn's performances. But I wanted to
support the movie club, which was why I was there that evening too.
They would show a Slovenian film, which I knew nothing about. But
I thought the film would remain unknown to me, if I didn't see it
now. So I walked in with my friend and found a seat.
The
chairman of the film club entered the stage. This was a woman of her
mid-fiftees. She gave a short presentation about the film. She introduced
the movie and said that rare films like this would hardly be shown
in Finland, unless there were independent non-profit film clubs like
theirs. Consequently it was delightful to have so many people here
today watching the film, which proved the point that the movie club
was important and not without meaning. The woman ended her speech
and received a huge applause. The lights dimmed and the curtain was
lifted.
As
the opening credits appeared on the screen, I remembered that I left
some important papers at home. The thought vexed me so much that I
couldn't concentrate on the movie but decided to go and get the papers
there and then. I rose from my seat and exited the theatre.
I
fetched the papers from home quite quickly, but nevertheless it took
me at least half an hour to get back. Reaching the movie theatre I
stepped in through a different door. To my amazement I noticed that
the building had a number of big auditoriums. The hall which I now
entered seemed to be a kind of massage centre. On the benches I could
see half-naked men and women being massaged by professionals in white
coats. The scene reminded me of public facilities from the 1940s,
although I didn't see any pools or baths. Most of the customers were
old-age pensioners.
I
walked across the hall and went up the stairs. Stepping into the movie
theatre I paid attention to the brown marble staircase and the decay
of the statue in the alcove. The statue had eroded badly and its cracks
were covered by dark mold and moss.
When
I sat down again, the movie had nearly ended. My seat was at the back
of the theatre. I hardly saw anything of the movie, as there were
so many rows of seats that I would have needed binoculars to see properly.
So, instead of the film, I looked into the walls and the ceiling.
I
remembered visiting the place when I was still a student. I had almost
forgotten how beautiful the building was with its marble columns and
decorative reliefs. I used to wath concerts here, but even then the
concerts were largely missed, as I didn't see the performers behind
the heads and shoulders of the people in front of me.
The
last song of the film started to play and people stood up to exit.
I tried to locate my friend but all these people passing by blocked
my view. Eventually there were so few people left that I detected
a familiar person a couple of rows in front of me. The man didn't
watch the screen, but was busy reading a book. I wondered whether
my friend had been reading all through the film. For some reason the
idea made me feel disappointed. I was about to greet him, but then
I noticed that the man was not my friend after all.
