Sunday, October 7, 2007

How does it feel to Remember

It is roughly five or six o clock on a breezy warm Tuesday that is caught between September and October. On 13th street, on the edge of campus ,directly across from the University of Lincolns two-story bookstore, is the Ross theatre. The ruby and red speckled brick theatre is small in comparison to the giant building diagonal from it, yet it snuggles in nicely with a library to its right and the Haymarket area not far away. The only way you would be able to distinguish the theatre from its Siamese companion, the visitors center, is from the flashing marquee that quickly displays the current main showings.
This theatre however is not typical. It does not boast the swirling active stars of Oak view 24’s Galaxy star ceiling or the wide expanse of Douglas theatre downtown. Instead it is compact, tiny in space. This theatre shows classic films, foreign films, and film student’s final projects. It also is home to events such as Husker games and sneak previews. This theatre is historic in comparison to the futuristic theatres of our time. The Ross is unlike other theatres in the area because it is able to create a connection, a bridge even between people and time. The people that come here are not looking for action thrillers or the newest hit. They come searching for art, substance and memory. The theatre is able to filter their screenings (because of their size) and focus on what exactly people want to see.

Walking in you see Kevin, a UNL student who properly portrays the blonde-hair-horn-rimmed-glasses-type , and is staffing the small front desk nestled in the east-wrapping corner. The evening light sneaks in as he asks which of the two sets of movies I would like to see; smiling sweetly at the older couple behind me as he pulls out the three ply paper. The sound of metal sliding over paper escapes and I receive the yellow paper form my carbon copy ticket. As I follow his direction into the great hallway that divides the two theatres I pass by the pillars that seem to swirl with their rotating and size-changing pattern, to the centered candy stand. A short girl with brown hair, and a nametag that says Katie, puts her math book aside and flashes a quick all-knowing smile as she offers me drive-in style treats of popcorn and hot dogs as well as classic coca-cola. The delectable drinks range from chi-tea to sodas and coffee. After glancing through the small glass tray with the eyes of a small child in the candy store, I grab a few mysterious tin-wrapped chewy candy chocolates from the giant glass jar. Blue means milk chocolate and gold is caramel, I am told. I compliment this with water and ask for small popcorn to chase it down.



The scent of freshly buttered popcorn follows me as I feel my way through the dimly lit curving hallway. As it opens into the valley of space, I blink myself accustomed to the lighting and glance around at the different students spread throughout this theatre. And I ask how many students are here for classes and how many, like me, have traveled here out of sheer interest? Some students have made themselves comfortable, their socked feet gently tapping the seat in front of them in a slight impatience. Some pop their bubble gum and flicker on their cell phones. As I make my way up the stairs their heads fade slightly into the darkness blending with the withering lights. I settle my self into the rust colored seats with a rock and a creak, and feel my hand along cold wooden handle searching for the common placement of the cup holder (only to find it backwards on the seat in front of me). The older couple ambles into their seats inching along in the darkness. The movie starts and the buzz of the machine reaches my ears from above and those dust particles whirl to meet light in the air.
In this moment my mind begins to play a movie unto itself. It is a fuzzy movie, not complete in its parts. It jumps a bit as my mind flips from memory to memory. Flying through the air on my father’s shoulders, and my friend’s funeral. Parts of my movies are still slides, reminding me of a single moment, some include scents, or tastes of chocolate cookies, and my family’s laughter. However some of these I have only heard stories of. Others are Kodak moments of landmark experiences, cliché moments that are so unique to my mind. My first kiss, saying, “ I love you”, graduation day.

What is it about these stories that entice us so? How is it possible that is they so common and somehow unique at the same time? Why is it that theatres such as the Ross are able to stand in the age of pop culture, action movies and love comedies where these private moments are exploited? Maybe it has something to do with our individual movies, the memories that we relate to allowing us to connect into each of those movies we see. This plays in my head as the classic voices of 1940’s actors tease my mind. They coax me from my red rigid seats and over stimulated culture into the black and white simplicity of their era. This era does not boast an eight-dollar cover charge for entertainment, or a month’s rent for a bag of popcorn. Here in this theatre I am nostalgic for that time when everyone had a place, for all the past times, for the people who seemed to know all of the answers. And for all things that have passed in the memories of people, without being captured.


In this theatre, developed most likely for the purpose of education, a dozen or so students have all taken this trip back in time alongside me. In our rows of angular seating we are viewing a moving living time capsule that in a way is much like a home movie of our own. This time capsule contains the memories of another time. It holds the language, the expressions, and the mannerisms of the time. In our society at this time, we have an uncanny need for nostalgia. We need to creep into these time capsules to associate and lather ourselves with the simplicities and styles of another time. Like a daughter trying on her mothers clothing, we slide in and out of these periods of time. But our feet never quite fit the shoes of those that came before us. We find it easier to connect in such a way with active memories and art than with dates and readings. Particularly for the soul-searching college student, it is easier to see yourself reflected in relation to someone onstage, on the screen, and in our own memories. In this way new generations are able to develop a pair of shoes all their own instead of fitting others footprints.

While wiping the movie star dust from your eyes, the lights gradually wake themselves up, reminding you of the time you are in. Stepping down those narrow steps, the other students join you and they smile unconsciously, connected through this humbling experience. I walk by posters of classic Disney films, originals such as Peter Pan and Alice in Wonderland with lightened color and pre-computer illustration. These posters are somewhat weathered, much like an old memory. They too have creases down the middle from being carried around and opened up again. Now they are being displayed, collecting outward dust until they are woken up again. Flip flops slap the hallway tiles as a large group of exchange students and art student exit from the foreign films theatre. There is a buzzing and humming as the group passes by. We are blessed once more by the desk clerks smile as he hands us art flyers and posters to remind us, that no matter what home movies we carry within ourselves, we are part of a new history a new era, and a new section of time capsule movies. Years from now, we will be nothing but a classic film for others to remember.




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