The controlled conditions of a darkened cinema with frosty aircon, velveteen seats and retired couples escaping the afternoon heat are something I look forward to every year.
I spend my summers bouncing between an ancient cineplex wedged at the back of an ’80s shopping complex with rickety seats and $5 tix, and a small bougie theatre in the neighbouring starts, paying in person to avoid the online booking fees and quoting my preferred seat with peculiar precision to the indifferent attendant expecting a vague “middle” or “back”. It’s a space of slow walking and no talking and I like it there.
