The year was 1978. The folks had announced that they would take us to the pictures in town. It was the first ever trip to the cinema for my sister and me. We were excited - for we had heard from our older brother who had seen "Jaws" some months earlier, that the cinema was a magical cave of sights and sounds.

At the cinema, we found ourselves shepherded into a dark room where chairs were conjoined in straight lines on a gradual slope. Our guide with the torch ensured that we did not stray; and that we sat on chairs that bore numbers matching those that were printed on our ticket stubs. The place was packed with strangers and there was excitement in the air.

As soon as we sat down, the huge deep red curtains at the front parted - to reveal a big and smooth white surface. Then, a stream of powdery white light hurtled straight above our heads from the back of the room. The light collided heads-on to the screen and like magic it turned into an image of an oversized gorilla with a little blonde woman clad in a bikini in his hairy palm.

The creature roared and the sound reverberated around us. The monkey king was none other than King Kong and the woman - Jessica Lange. It was then, at that precise moment - when the image melded with the thundering sound, that I fell in love truly, madly deeply for the first time. It was neither the giant Mr. Kong, nor the diminutive Ms Lange, that had captured my 6-year-old heart; it was the whole experience of being in a cinema to watch a good film. Twenty-six years on and the romance is still going strong.

Love, life and art

This love affair has (like other matters of the heart) monopolised much of my time. University timetables, daily schedules, routines, events and dates had to fit around the offering of the local art cinema. Potential suitors and beaus were gauged on their choice of reels and their ability to sit still and concentrate on films. If they passed the first stage of an ordinary good film and had potential in other respects, they would then be allowed to share in the delight, joy and sadness, triumphs and tragedies captured in the array of films that meant the world to me such as Ladri di Biciclette, Le Grande Illusion, My Life as a Dog, La Strada et al.)

The level of affection I offered would depend on their reaction towards these reels. For example- what did they make out of the Italian classic: Ladri di Biciclette (1948) where the genius, actor-director De Sica, casted non-actors in his neo-realism piece of art. Would they worry when the father rested his bicycle against the graffiti streaked walls and run down stairwells in those hard times after the World War II when people were so poor? When the bicycle got stolen, did they feel his loss and empathise with him on his mission to find the item that would allow him to keep a where work opportunity was so scarce? Would they feel for the young boy who was older than his years, tagging after the father in his search for the bicycle? Would they fret for his safety when he went missing? Or would they be indifferent?

After Ladri di Biciclette , I would see how they react to Le Grande Illusion (1938) - the most non-violent war film ever made, by the old master Jean Renoir? Would they like me, be touched by the pacifist sentiments it espoused and feel in their bones how futile war is? Would they gasp when one of the prisoners climbed down a tunnel and ran out of air to breathe whilst his comrades joke around above him? Or would they remain emotionless and apathetic through out the film? Would they disregard the film and its contents as soon as the images disappear? If so then they too would go from real life.

Lessons learned

Indeed, at the risk of sounding dramatic or simplistic, in my life, film reels act as my character barometer - measuring the empathy level and soul of another. The loops of spool test has not disappointed nor failed me thus far. It may be even admitted that the one time the reel barometer was disregarded; the relationship went wrong like blotchy images on a wide screen. I learned my lessons then:

Lesson number 1: unlike humans, good films do not lie and are honest in the messages that they project even if the messages are sometimes warped.

Lesson number 2: unlike people, bad films are incapable of pretending to be good.

Lesson number 3: bad films, like bad characters are a waste of time.

Films also provide such a fascinating insight into social changes. The screen can demonstrate and reflect our attitudes towards beauty, politics, religion, sex, crime and racism, as well as shifting tastes in fashion, architecture, interior design, travel and language. One does not have to go far nor delve too deeply to see this. Take the example of film icons. Notice how the films capture the concept of beauty changing over time.

Mysterious dark haired Louis Brooks in her flapper outfits was the epitome of beauty in the twenties, while the voluptuous blond Marilyn Monroe in the fifties and sophisticated sylphs Gwyneth Paltrow and Nicole Kidman today, in the nineties.

Given that films reflect change within time, one would expect films to be quickly outdated and irrelevant to the present viewer particularly if they belong to another decade, or a bygone era. Yet, this is not the case; despite the changing of time, most of the themes and messages conveyed in great films of yesteryears remain just as relevant and pertinent today as they were then. (Quality) films made today will no doubt be as significant in the future as they are now.

A clear example of this is the old film, All Quiet in the Western Front (d. Lewis Milestone) in the 1930s. Although the film is an old depiction of a group of German teenagers who volunteered for action on the Western Front in 1914, the story still translates well into the present climate where life is cheap and countries embark on war regardless of lessons learned in the past. Films like these serve to remind those (who care to watch and listen) of the high costs of war and provide the testament that despite progression, there is also regression in the world and that history repeats itself.

In that time when the film reels are played, the audience travels with the protagonist; they feel for the characters and believe the storyline. The amazing thing about films is that if done well, they also have the ability to transport the audience to another land a place so far away that they do not have to deal with their own lives; where lifetimes are condensed in a couple of hours; where there is always a conclusion, a the-end; in short - a land where everything and everyone seems real but not.

End note

Indeed therein lies the charm and beauty of films - it is so much like real life yet it is not. Life in the reel is often simple, straightforward and clear whereas life in the real world is more complex. Whilst the former has a strict screenplay and fixed number of actors within the confines of the film frames, real life contains more actors, many more extras, convoluted plots and infinite turns and twists. As Alfredo said in Cinema Paradise, real life is much harder.

Perhaps this is why everyone, loves the movies.

Nuovo Cinema Paradiso , 1989 (d. Giuseppe Tornatore)

Alfredo: Living here day by day, you think it's the centre of the world. You believe nothing will ever change. Then you leave, a year, two years. When you come back, everything's changed. The thread's broken. What you came to find isn't there. What was yours is gone. You have to go away for a long time many years...before you can come back and find your people. The land where you were born. But now, no? Its not possible. Right now you're blinder than I am.

Salvatore: Who said that? Cary Cooper? James Stewart? Henry Fonda? Eh?

Alfredo: No, Toto. Nobody said it. This time it's all me. Life isn't like the movies Life is much harder.

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