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sharplittleteethWe walk through the town, past buildings built from grey slate. Bearded men hold dog races in the cobblestone streets. We step into a CD store, and flick idly through the racks, until we realise we are running late for the movie.
The cinema is in an alleyway. Literally. The screen has been hung up at the end wall, and rows of seats set up on the narrow road. There is no sound system. The audience have to tune in on their portable radios to listen.
The cinema proprietor glares out at the crowd He is overweight, dressed in an unkempt white shirt and a cheap black tie that make him look like a irritable schoolteacher. He throws out two of the audience, accusing them of being troublemakers.
The film starts. It’s a documentary about American punk bands. The sound is awful. Someone’s head blocks my view of the screen.
We leave, walking through streets the colour of storm clouds, while Dalmatians and greyhounds race past.
And after that, the dream doesn’t so much end as fall apart, breaking up into a flurry of disjointed images.
The cinema is in an alleyway. Literally. The screen has been hung up at the end wall, and rows of seats set up on the narrow road. There is no sound system. The audience have to tune in on their portable radios to listen.
The cinema proprietor glares out at the crowd He is overweight, dressed in an unkempt white shirt and a cheap black tie that make him look like a irritable schoolteacher. He throws out two of the audience, accusing them of being troublemakers.
The film starts. It’s a documentary about American punk bands. The sound is awful. Someone’s head blocks my view of the screen.
We leave, walking through streets the colour of storm clouds, while Dalmatians and greyhounds race past.
And after that, the dream doesn’t so much end as fall apart, breaking up into a flurry of disjointed images.
