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Going To The Pictures







            They opened a new multi-clnema complex last month, serving a continuous diet of school lloliday and adult
            fare. Very nice it is, too- modern design, latest sound equipment, a great place to spend a relaxing hour or two.
            But it made me remember the theatre we frequented as kids, when "going to the pictures" was a big deal.

            Our local "flick" was a ramshackle fibro building with concrete floor and canvas seats,  rather like deckchairs
            joined in rows.  The projector broke down regularly, its demise accompanied by a chorus of whistles and cat-
            calls, until it flickered into life again.  Because the floor was so uneven, it was as well to watch one's step wtleo
            changing seats in the dark, or visiting the noisome, non-sewered toilets on  either side of the stage.


            Mind you, we got our money's worth.  Saturday matinees usually meant a trailer,  a serial, two movies (one
            invariably a western) and a cartoon.  There may have been a newsreel, too, but Who bothered to watch that?
            We were far too busy kicking the rear of the kid in the seat in front.  There was something to be said for those
            canvas seats though, When things on screen were scary.  If the Iron Claw advanced. or the Shadow stalked the
            heroine, we could tuck our feet up and - almost - shut our eyes.


            Time moved on, but still the pictures on a Saturday night was a big occasion.  A favourite place for couples. it
            meant that we made an effort to look our best.  On with the  bes~ dress, stockings,  nigh heels and possibly
            gloves.  We were taken to the best seats (dress circle or lounge), with a box of chocolates during the show and
            a taxi home.  Few of the boyfriends had cars.  At interval, none of the mad scramble for ice-creams or drinks.
            The usherettes, with their trays of refreshments came in and stood at the end of the aisles.  The theatre organ
            rose slowly from its hid-hole, and a selection of popular tunes was played until, his segment completed, the
            organist turned, bowed and descended.  Again, two movies, news. cartoon, and trailer were shown, and wflat
            went on afterwards was the business of the couple concerned.


            Teaching out west, I discovered everyone, just everyone, went to the fficks on Saturday night  It was the local
            highlight, and again a program of two films.  But woe betide anyone who went to see anything of substance,
            because you knew the majority of the audience would laugh and fool about throughout.  They'd come to see the
            Western, which, as most Important. was shown second.  Still, we could always go home at IntervaL


            And so it went.  We became used to drive-ins, one movie at each theatre session, and went less often to the
            cinema as we discovered the video recorder.  The theatre organs are long gone and the usherettes with their
            trays of goodies are an extinct species.


            But all is not lost.  A while ago, we visited a seaside cinema to see a first release.  We wondered if we should
            book seats.  In the event, we just went early, and wondered if we'd made· a mistake in the program.  The box
            office attendant and popcorn seller were the same person, while the jobs of ticker-taker, usher and projectionist
            appeared to be inleJ-changeable.  The ceiling was painted blue, with light bulbs winking through painted stars.
            The seats were plush and comfortable.


            The whole audience had a great  night out- all eight of us!  And the projector didn't break down oncel



            (by R.Geddes- A Readers story- The Australiarr Women's Weekly- May,  1993)



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