Autopsy Of Cinema

The sense of grandeur is lost from moviegoers' minds,
the feeling of anticipation as the music starts,
the lights dim and curtains reveal the tort screen,
the sense of being the only person or one of the first few to view the film.
That unique sense of belonging that only cinemas achieve,
the comfy seating,
the plush carpet under foot
and the mountain of popcorn that tumbles from the tub as eager hands dive in.
The occasional solitary chuckle that escapes from the stranger sat next to you,
as straws slurp at the carbonated liquid inside the cups.
Gasps and ohhs echo around the room,
muffled by the luxurious soft furnishings that cling to walls,
dressed in yesteryear's grandeur that's cracked and flaked.
Recent modifications slowly eat away the elegant charm of memories past.
The cracked chipboard conceals the decor of our fore fathers,
lost in between wood chip paper that smothers everything in sight.
The screen goes blank and the lights come on,
sounds of footsteps and wrappers dance around the room,
ice cream tubs distributed it's on with the show.
The murmurs die down as attention is grasped once again.
Exit signs flicker in the restored darkness as people wonder back to their seats,
all is quiet as modern day warfare explodes upon the screen.
Reels are spinning through the 1950s machines back onto the take up reel,
to await there next showing.
The whirring and clicking reflects the distant heartbeat of the ticking grandfather clock,
another thirty minutes to go and then all will be calm,
the theatre empties with the stragglers watching the credits roll,
as exit doors swing shut the artificial lighting blinks into life,
as rows and rows of seats stare back,
waiting expectantly for there next guests to arrive.
The curtains swish closed again,
protecting the screen so its ready to shine again one day.

Gemma Mountain, 2009