Day 82

I went for a short walk and hauled wood, yesterday gym and 2.60 miles.

The going down of the sun must have been extremely frightening before the discovery of fire.  If even now, in the 21st century, the bogeymen come out after dark, imagine the dire possibility of sabre-tooths and other nocturnal hunters for our long-ago ancestors.  Now we can switch on electric lights, close the curtains to block out the night, lock our doors and windows, and bask safely in our own little patches of brightness for as long as we want to.

When I was little, I was allowed to read in bed after my bath, and then at a certain time my mother would come upstairs to kiss me goodnight and warn me not to put the light back on to read, because I was supposed to go to sleep.  I didn't put the light back on, but most nights, as soon as she had vanished down the stairs and the coast was clear, I would go and sit on the floor in the hall and read by the light which was always left on there. Such a strange logic. My brother might come out of his room where he was doing his homework occasionally and give me a funny look, or try to make me laugh out loud, but generally I was safe in the knowledge of that silent agreement of siblings not to "tell on" one another.

At about 10.30 or 11 my parents would begin stirring from their chairs where they had been knitting or reading or working on something, and when I saw the lights being turned off in the same nightly sequence, I would tiptoe back to my bed, climb quietly in and expertly feign sleep.  I don't remember ever being caught, and perhaps I conned them completely, but being a parent myself I think they must have discovered what I was doing at some stage. Maybe they just turned a blind eye, because you can't really be angry with someone for reading! 

To go back to film, it is just another version of the stories I craved as that child who would not go to sleep.  When I was little, movies were solemn important occasions and happened very infrequently.  We would dress up in our Sunday best to catch the train into the city where we would go to the grand Alhambra theatre or the more seedy Monte Carlo, on the foreshore.

The beautiful Alhambra Theatre in Riebeeck street in Cape Town, which closed down in 1972

I remember once my sister arranged to meet me at the Alhambra to take me to a movie as a special treat, my elegant big sister, who was 23 or 24 already.  I dressed specially in the dress my mother had made which was of the same fabric as my sister's, and my dad drove me into the city for our Saturday afternoon date.  But of course my sister was late (she was notoriously late and still is, although now I am almost as bad), and there was nowhere to park in the busy street, so my dad just told me to jump out and wait on the pavement (sidewalk in American) for her.  Amazing now to think of that, imagine dropping off a 9 or 10 year old girl in the city of Cape Town to wait on the street for a big sister who might never arrive!

But she did, and when I saw her walking towards me up the street my heart leaped happily, because she had worn the same dress, and when she arrived she put her arm around me and told me we were twins, even though I was a tiny skinny mite and she this tall blonde goddess. 

South Africa didn't have television until I was grown-up, so watching a film was even more magical than for other children my age in the western world who watched tv every day.  Sitting in the theatre on those rare occasions, my best friend Trish and I would always look at each other and say excitedly, "The lights are dimming!" when they weren't really, and then we would roll about laughing at our own silly joke, and all her siblings would think we were ridiculous, but we didn't care because we loved each other and we were so excited and happy to be there, about to watch a wonderful story like Mary Poppins, or The Sound of Music, and to be enchanted. 

And now, all these years later, I can watch a movie at the click of a remote, with  a Netflix subscription which allows me to stream films into my own living room!  My dad would be astonished!

I think I have always been disappointed by movies of books that I have read.  When you read you create a whole world in your head, and then it is sometimes hard to accept someone else's interpretation.

It is difficult to pick a favourite movie, but I have always loved Children of a Lesser God, since I saw it in 1986 in the Odeon Theatre in Grahamstown.  It was the first time I realised that sign language is so beautiful and eloquent.  In some ways it is more expressive and sensual than the spoken word. It is also one of those perfect movies which tells a fascinating story and then loops it all up at the end in a pleasing conclusion.  A narrative that stays with you for years. 

In the 21st century the visual world is ever present, we are constantly bombarded with images.  And none so lusciously presented as those in movies, from such different perspectives: dramas, documentaries, educating us on areas we will probably never visit, crazy action movies, science fiction, and history.  There are creatures which do not actually exist, portrayed in such blatant reality that you cannot quite believe, when the movie is finished and you are back in the real world, that there are no dragons, giants, or blue alien people called Na'vis.

 I believe film informs our memories, enlightens how we perceive the world.