Romancing the cinema

It’s great to be 60 or 103 when watching movies have become senior-friendly. Knowing the inherent sincerity of old folks — they don’t cheat and take advantage of the senior card — the box office ladies will even issue the movie tickets to your assistant, if you’re not physically able to stand in line.  Once your seat has been reserved, get your favorite movie snack — flavored yoghurt or vanilla ice cream dipped in Belgian chocolate that freezes instantly.  I love it! 

Gone are the days of scrambling for seats when the cinema was packed to the rafters.  Despite the warning signs SRO (Standing Room Only), the cashier still sold tickets like corralling cows to slaughter.  Everyone turned a blind eye to the danger of overcrowding, or fire, stampede, and other emergencies that may lead to grave, irreplaceable loss, death especially.

Do you remember the bane of moviegoers?  Cigarettes.  The smell of tobacco would have burrowed deep into the fiber of your shirt and your hair, like a parfum-fumé.  This rendered any alibi unconvincingly feeble against mother’s sit-down cross-examinations.  “Young lady, where have you been and with whom?” 

Back then, the celluloid screen was used as a medium to re-affirm and imbibe valuable lessons in life.  The movies actually had substance and meaning aside from stunning vistas.

I think my maturing in age was also evident in my viewing stance.  I began from an infantile attitude of covering my eyes at every kissing scene to not flinching over clinches and other intimate but done-in-good-taste acts.  

How many coughed uncomfortably at watching Elizabeth Taylor stripped down to her full lace chemise when she confronted her husband, Paul Newman, in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof?  At that time, baring your undergarment was also considered inappropriate and too risqué. 

Below are my favorite films that celebrated the triumph of love after all the twists and turns and turmoil:

• A Summer Place, 1959. Sandra Dee and Troy Donahue lit up the screen as a love-struck couple who met in a vacation spot that was perfect for an “awww-so-romantic” pairing.  I was a tongue-tied 13-year-old high school freshman swooning over Troy and imagining that I could replace Sandra Dee.  She was the profile of innocence and unblemished charm, therefore, every young girl’s non pareil model.   

• West Side Story, 1961. Young Maria met Tony, a reformed gang leader in a neighborhood block dance.  He sang of “something good’s gonna happen tonight” and it did.  It was young love, raw with fire and passion matched by superb choreography from opposing camps.  When Maria repeated Tony’s name in a tone that was almost sacred and reverent, I memorized two words that she whispered straight from her heart:  “Te adoro.”  

• Sound of Music, 1965. We were packed like sardines in the lobby of Avenue Theater and we haven’t even reached the box office to secure tickets.  Normally, I would have turned around and head for the car.  But this time, I looked dreamily at my date who quickly grabbed my hand and exclaimed, “I got tickets!”  When we entered the Balcony section, a mass of film buffs occupied every nook, cranny, and steps of the cinema.  I looked helplessly at my date.  He quickly jumped at a vacant seat and hollered, “Just one!”  He beckoned to me to sit with him, assuring me, “We will find another seat before the main feature.”  But no one stood up.

The movie began with Maria twirling gaily and celebrating the magnificence of nature, of life and music; I hummed along while my date smiled broadly at me, still locking me in an embrace.  A good hour passed and we were still occupying one seat.  Finally, when Maria and Captain von Trapp danced under the moonlight, a seat materialized.  My date quickly placed his left hand on the seat but gave me a saddened plea.  “Give it away,” I whispered and we continued to watch the movie sitting snugly together in one seat.  â€œFor here you are standing there loving me,” Julie Andrews sang and I finished the song in my mind, “I must have done something good.”  Despite that chock-full of humanity inside the theater, I thought I was in a secret garden with the air rarefied and enchanted.  â€œPerfect,” I sighed. 

• Camelot, 1967. I could not have enough of Mary Stewart and her stories on King Arthur and the legendary Knights of the Round Table.  “Look at that,” I remarked.  “The cinema is not full.”  It was on an extended run.   My date got tickets without losing his arm.  When Richard Harris sang about his mind being like a blank wall, empty of logic, he lovingly and softly sang about the sure way to handle and keep his Queen Guinevere or any woman for that matter:  “Love her, just love her, simply love her.”  At that moment, my date turned to me and pressed my hand.  In my books, King Arthur won thumbs down over Sir Lancelot.  He proved his love by releasing Guinevere, love’s ultimate sacrifice.  A giving heart is a sincere heart. 

 â€¢ The Way We Were, 1973. “He’s too handsome for her,” I said.  That was Robert Redford.  Incredibly possessed of good looks, from Mount Olympus, I reckoned.  He made any girl of my generation drop everything, and I mean everything and whatever else that was unnecessarily in the way of the art of seduction and enticement.  Barbra was wise not to compete.  Her strength laid somewhere else — in her cranium.

When she stood in front of him, she flicked a stray strand of hair from his forehead, a habit that she never dropped even if they parted ways.  He smiled back and held her close, for another goodbye.  I watched this with my girlfriends and we were fighting to hold back the tears.  Oh, come on, why not?  Let the tears flow.  What a relief to simply wail, “Waaaah.”   

• Out of Africa, 1985. Based loosely on the story of Isak “Karen” Dinesen, played by Meryl Streep. Her true love was Denys, a don’t-tie-me-down free spirit played by Robert Redford (again).  He liked the simple African custom of the free, nomadic life of the Maasai tribe on the open landscape against the stiff European customs of luxury, ownership, and titles.  Although Denys genuinely loved Karen, he refused to give up his free lifestyle.  Karen realized that Denys was as impossible to own or tame as Africa itself.  When the plane he was piloting crashed, she took a handful of dirt and with deep sorrow uttered, “He never belonged to anyone, he never belonged to me.”      

The last scene stabbed at my heart. 

After the credits rolled, we faced the blinding light of the hot afternoon sun.  “How did you like the movie?” I asked my friend who was incidentally, on the verge of losing her husband to another woman.  “So cry-able,” she declared.  I thought so, too.  We looked at each other and turned towards the box office.  “What time is the next screening?”

Such madness.   We were actually happy to be unhappy.