Creative

At the pictures in Dubai

I’ve not been to the pictures for many years,
ten, fifteen, twenty, I just don’t know.
Nor can I remember all that I saw.
I do remember the Saturday minors club,
the flickering black and white dramas,
Flash Gordon,
Hopalong Cassidy,
Lone Ranger.

We queued, eager young children clutching
sixpence for admission, a few pennies
for Kiora drink or cheap sweets. We’d
tumble in to the vast auditorium, an
unabashed temple to film.
No compromise with small screens here.

Lifted on a tide of jolly music
the organ rose from a pit
deep before the huge silver screen.
Lit by spotlights, surrounded by chrome,
a tiny figure played with exaggerated
gestures – incongruous before the vast scene.

Sometimes the film broke, we roared.
The projector jammed or perhaps a delay
as one reel finished and another began.
Claps, boos and then cheers
as the flickering image, hollow sound
returned the great screen to our fantasy land.

Now the art deco building is gone.
There’s a bloody Tescos in its place.

I remember all this as I sit with
popcorn drink and straw, waiting
for the film to begin. Six screens,
Dolby digital sound, DVD, it’s
not the Saturday minors
at the old Savoy.

Some still rush in
just as the advertisements end.
There is still excitement in the air.
Young ushers with torches
show people to their seats.
Some argue gently as to
where to sit.

I watch slick, grand adverts for perfume,
trailers for films yet to come
but they have, as did the Savoy,
fuzzy, dull slides of local emporia
and an old scratched analogue film has crept in.
Bold notices appear on the screen
“Do not smoke, do not litter or cause a nuisance
no phones, no pagers.” We all obey.

At last the film. My popcorn’s half gone
as I settle to watch the fabulous digital image
and listen to Dolby sound. I become one with
what I see to laugh, cry, feel anguish, happiness
as the tale unfolds and all around me disappear.

It’s over and tears run down my face
as we rush to the exit as the credits run
a long list of names no one reads.
Ill never know who the grip or gaffer was
but I’ll remember going to the pictures in Dubai.