Illustration by Lola Fleming.

Originally published in print September 2020. 

During what was probably the most collectively stressful period of life in living memory, not having the tonic of cinema gave me a lot of heartache. Of course, there are significantly worse and more important things taking place in the world during a pandemic, but it is our small rituals of normality that make us feel safe and whole. Whether that be seeing your friends around college, getting a double espresso from your favourite café or heading to the pub for a nice pint of Guinness, our habitual behaviour is a significant part of what shapes us. 

Going to the cinema is one such example for me. The Spanish filmmaker Pedro Almodóvar once said that: “Cinema can fill in the empty spaces of your life and your loneliness.” Without being able to sit in the dark to watch a movie with a community of people around me experiencing the same horror, wonder and spectacle, I feel restless. I will go to the cinema when I’m sad to lift my spirits. I will go when I’m happy and buy a large salted popcorn and a large mixed Ice Blast. I will go when I’m lost in my thoughts and need answers. I will go alone. I will go with mates. I will go on a date. I will go when I’m heartbroken (probably in that order). I will go when I’m stressed. I will go when I’m bored. I will go when I’m lonely. I couldn’t go during lockdown, when the entire world seemed its loneliest, scariest and most empty.

So when it came to almost exactly four months of not going to the cinema, I was both thrilled and nervous to be invited to a press screening. I had many questions: would it be safe? What will it be like watching a movie with steamy eyes (I’m a glasses-wearer, not perpetually horny) and a mask? Will I be allowed to drink/eat? How many people will be there? As soon as the lights dimmed in Screen 1 at the Light House, and the score began to play, I became a blubbering wreck. I wasn’t moved by the film’s opening, or by the film itself—Stage Mother (Thom Fitzgerald, 2020) is pants, for the record—but I was having a physical reaction to being back in the cinema, a place so dear to my heart. It was strange to wear a mask for so long, apply hand sanitiser, walk in one direction, and keep my distance from other people in a building that had been empty for a season and was still not open to the public. But it was also familiar and wonderful and comfortable and exciting. I was returning home.