Back when I was in college the downtown of the city had a lot more interest in foreign films.
There was a free arts-'n-culture newspaper available on streetcorners --you just open the box, reach in, grab one --and inside, there would usually be some foreign cinema event listed.
This was also back when the world was a much larger, freer, wide-open space instead of the restricted, shriveled-up thing it is now.
Anyway I used to regularly take dates along with me to some Bergman or Kurosawa movie on my TBD list.
One time --this is not a rousing anecdote with a punchline or zinger --I'm just recalling one typical occasion.
The paper had an advert for an 'Italian cinema fans' which aired Italian flicks on Friday nights, with discussion afterward.
The fee was maybe $15 per person, but included espresso and biscotti and tiramisu. You know the kind of thing. Summer night, couples out strolling, sidewalk cafes.
This seemed like a budget-friendly deal to me at the time so I put on my good shoes and blue blazer and sought out the address with some bewildered business co-ed from one of my electives.
The group's address was in one of the ornate older downtown hotels where people had permanent addresses. Lions carved on the outside.
Inside, ornament everywhere. Mirrors in the lobby, paintings in the hallways. Tiny elevators with the sliding iron grill door.
There's no real point to this story but I'm just describing how unusual it was. When we were admitted to the address it was in fact someone's apartment.
Large though --some kind of suite. Big enough so that half of the space was cleared for movie night.
The floor was arranged with twenty folding chairs (not bare metal but with cushioned seat).
There was a folding table in the rear of the room with a coffee urn and plates of Italian treats.
The front of the room was either a large screen TV or a screen with a flick being projected.
It was maybe a laserdisc? Some kind of projector where the gizmo had three big round lenses: red, green, blue.
It didn't take a lot of fiddling (unlike a reel-to-reel) and the picture was reasonably clear.
So the host pulled the drapes and we took two seats in the rear row and watched Fellini.
But what was so fun and novel about the audience themselves is that it was truly Italian. Everyone was charming and warm and friendly and welcoming.
Older vecchia and vecchio from the nearby Italian market area. Store-owners. Street vendors who had probably come to America after the war.
It was purely a bunch of friends getting together to remember the Old Country every week.
We enjoyed the flick --but afterwards --well, my undergrad Italian 101 & 102 wasn't good enough to facilitate much erudite film gab. We listened to the chatter for a while --nodding our heads --and then slipped out.
But I simply savor --in retrospect -- the unexpectedness of it all.
There was a free arts-'n-culture newspaper available on streetcorners --you just open the box, reach in, grab one --and inside, there would usually be some foreign cinema event listed.
This was also back when the world was a much larger, freer, wide-open space instead of the restricted, shriveled-up thing it is now.
Anyway I used to regularly take dates along with me to some Bergman or Kurosawa movie on my TBD list.
One time --this is not a rousing anecdote with a punchline or zinger --I'm just recalling one typical occasion.
The paper had an advert for an 'Italian cinema fans' which aired Italian flicks on Friday nights, with discussion afterward.
The fee was maybe $15 per person, but included espresso and biscotti and tiramisu. You know the kind of thing. Summer night, couples out strolling, sidewalk cafes.
This seemed like a budget-friendly deal to me at the time so I put on my good shoes and blue blazer and sought out the address with some bewildered business co-ed from one of my electives.
The group's address was in one of the ornate older downtown hotels where people had permanent addresses. Lions carved on the outside.
Inside, ornament everywhere. Mirrors in the lobby, paintings in the hallways. Tiny elevators with the sliding iron grill door.
There's no real point to this story but I'm just describing how unusual it was. When we were admitted to the address it was in fact someone's apartment.
Large though --some kind of suite. Big enough so that half of the space was cleared for movie night.
The floor was arranged with twenty folding chairs (not bare metal but with cushioned seat).
There was a folding table in the rear of the room with a coffee urn and plates of Italian treats.
The front of the room was either a large screen TV or a screen with a flick being projected.
It was maybe a laserdisc? Some kind of projector where the gizmo had three big round lenses: red, green, blue.
It didn't take a lot of fiddling (unlike a reel-to-reel) and the picture was reasonably clear.
So the host pulled the drapes and we took two seats in the rear row and watched Fellini.
But what was so fun and novel about the audience themselves is that it was truly Italian. Everyone was charming and warm and friendly and welcoming.
Older vecchia and vecchio from the nearby Italian market area. Store-owners. Street vendors who had probably come to America after the war.
It was purely a bunch of friends getting together to remember the Old Country every week.
We enjoyed the flick --but afterwards --well, my undergrad Italian 101 & 102 wasn't good enough to facilitate much erudite film gab. We listened to the chatter for a while --nodding our heads --and then slipped out.
But I simply savor --in retrospect -- the unexpectedness of it all.