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March 1, 2008 |
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At the Movies, (Real) Love Reigns Supreme
By Chawki Amari
 It is a beautiful day in Algiers, the sort of weather that summons to hang out in the open. It is an image, only an image: “Before we used to go to parks”, explains a young man, as he fixes his shirt at the exit of the movie theater. “It is no longer possible now, laârya come, they rape your girlfriend and steal your money,” he continues, resignation drawing on his face, but visibly content. His pretty twenty-some girlfriend discreetly fixes unruly strands of her hair, she too looks happy but she’s already hurried. Love just like in the movies? Yes. A sign of the times, it is no longer the police or the Islamists that hunt down couples in parks. It is the youth. Thugs, unemployed, prey on them, they attack girls and hound boyfriends when they don’t beat them to a pulp. It was only natural for the young couples that want to embrace to find safe haven in movie theaters, reanimated for the occasion. And so I had to go to the movies. I managed to convince a pretty doll to accompany me. She is young, a little air-headed, she accepted for purely professional reasons off course. We agreed on a rendezvous, and on the said D-day and at the hour H, we meet at the door of the theater, minutes before the plan’s execution. A few posters are flung on the walls, but we understand quickly enough that they are entirely unrelated to the showcase inside.
Orchestra or Balcony
The first dilemma: seventy-five dinars on the lower level and one hundred on the upper level. The young lady accompanying me is as clueless as I am; she has never been to a place of this sort. Where might the more interesting observation deck be leering on the community of lovers in the dark? From the balcony one can gaze at what is happening below, in the orchestra seats one cannot see what is happening above. Gripped by doubt, I buy two seats in the orchestra section, they are cheaper. Cost of the operation, one hundred and fifty dinars, and a minimal amount compared to the cost of a hotel room. The young lady accompanying me and I exchange glances for the last time, as if we were about to enter hell from the main door. We smile like accomplices, slightly apprehensive. Algeria changes so swiftly. Like an idiot, I ask the usher what film will be showing as he pushes the orchestra section door open. He looks at me as if I were an alien from outer space, particularly because the girl is pretty. I don’t insist and ask if the film started already. He seems to reflect somewhat vaguely to the second question and drops his reply without much conviction: “one has already started, another will follow”, still rattled at the notion that a couple might venture to the cinema to watch a film. I later come to understand that in fact, there is no schedule. Films are screened in a loop and without interruption, between 1:00 pm and 6:00 pm. No matter. The usher is already inside; we trail behind him cautiously in the dark. He carries torchlight and signals me to follow him in near total obscurity. We climb up the theater’s passageways, and I try to discover what is going on around me. I can’t see anything, but I can hear the telling giggles, growls and sighs. My friend is lost behind, I turn around and call her. “Gouwed sahebtek, hold her by the hand”, says the usher with the torch light, noting our obvious lack of experience. I fetch my sweetie and follow him in the pitch-blackness. Finally, addressing me only, never the girl, he indicates our seats. I decide they are too central, not appropriate for in vivo observation of this natural habitat. “I think there are seats at the end”, I tell him. He looks at me with his torch, a tad annoyed: “you sit down where you want” he retorts as he leaves. My hand still locked into my sweetie’s, I look for seats now deprived of the torch’s light. No. Not here. Not here either. “Samhili”. We can’t see a thing, and several times I almost seat us on a couple hard at labor. In the shroud of darkness it is difficult to tell, but the house is full, every two or three seats a couple. Furthermore, many seats are broken, finding two whole ones side by side is no easy task. My friend and I look ridiculous circling in the blackness of the cinema. The usher was right, he knows his well his theater, we ought to have listened to him. Weary, we end up sitting any place. Sitting down, I break a seat in ruin. I fall and get up. Tiha ou nouda. I can hear the laughter caused by my awkwardness, but no one is really paying attention to us, they are busy with other things. We change places and finally find two seats more or less acceptable. We are finally seated, facing the screen that streams stunts serially, a bad film for bad viewers. Our eyes begin to get used to the darkness. I scoop the room. Couples everywhere. In all positions. I ask my partner to kiss me so we would not seem suspect. The girl consents –for the sake of the job– and from my position I observe. Everywhere, girls and boys huddled, talking, laughing or making love, embracing in the position of the after, the before or the during. They make love, the real thing. If the phenomenon is not new, and in the 1980s young couples came to the cinema for a harmless flirt, nice enough and without much consequences, now this was different. These were full-fledged love scenes, no special effects. Real sex, as in real life. I observe and probe, eyes wide open. In the darkness that has become sightly by virtue of accommodation, I realize I must seem suspect again.
Just As If It Were Home
Right next to us, three seats down. Naked torso, a cigarette in hand, a young man savors his after moment. We did not see any of it, but the girl getting dressed explains almost everything. To our right, two seats down, a couple is embracing tightly. She has lifted her skirt, and his fly is undone. Their bodies seem stuck, their movement is eloquent. Just behind them another couple is looking for the most practical position for the back and forth of lovemaking. The problem is simply the hand rests separating seats are not movable, so the question is to find the ergonomic encasing. I tell myself it must be the cinema for the acrobats of love. Some couples don’t bother with many trials. Behind, a girl is sitting facing her partner he is seated. The motion, upward and downward is quick-paced, rising well above the level of the seats, to the extent that those seated behind them cannot see the film, if any are here to see the film. Yes, yes, in the midst of this crowd of madness-struck copulators, cooing with pleasure, some men who have come alone seem to be following the film. I embrace and hug my sweetie again to survey these men, to figure out whether they are simple voyeurs who enjoy the spectacle and extract some solitary pleasure. No, I observe for a good while, they are really watching the film. Actually, ahead in the front, the usher with the torchlight is sitting, indifferent to the action behind him. He too seems to be watching the film, even if he has probably seen it a thousand times. But he is paid, contrary to the lone men who are watching the film surrounded by couples busy at doing what they do. How does one maintain stoicism in such situations? A mystery. To our right, a girl, kneeling on the floor, attempts to pleasure her partner, seated. He taps her head, in appreciation, his eyes unfocused on the screen. All the way down to the right, a couple leaves for the toilets. I decide to clock the time they will spend there. They come out a quarter of an hour later, which is far longer than what a natural need would requisite. A light below. The torch light of our friend the usher. A couple has just arrives and climbs to sit right in front of us. The boy is carrying a bag that seems to contain victuals and beverages. They plan to be here for some time then, just as if they were home. His partner has arrived with a strange object wrapped in a bag. We figure it out when she takes her seat: it’s a pillow that she fits between herself and the seat. The obvious question is do they wash the seats after each lovemaking séance? Probably not, maybe at the very end, when the series of films screening in a loop stops at around 6:00 pm. A girl that I saw come out in the beginning with a boy, comes back in with another one. Does she do it for the money? The usher stands up again with his torch, without saying a word. The atmosphere, unhealthy at first, settles to a normalcy. The couples are having a good time, when they are not making love, they laugh, talk, just as if they were home. Some know one another and accost each other across the theater, offering cigarettes or a can of some beverage. My partner is now totally relaxed, like everyone else in the room. Everything seems comfortable. We can kiss and hug again so I can observe. We enjoy it. She lowers herself. Just as if we were home.
Free entry and exit
The films roll in a loop without an intermission, or lights on, off course. People come in and leave as they wish in the dark. At any given time. I glance at a couple of boys leaving, suddenly I am curious (a gay couple?) when the film ends and immediately another starts, the interval of a second. After three quarters of an hour, my friend and I decide to leave, our mission accomplished. We leave the cinema, the girl checks herself out in the rearview mirror of a car parked in front. She fixes her hair, so do I. I thank her twice for her participation. We part with big smiles and the promise to try the balcony next time. Outside other couples are standing around, re-arranging their demeanor. It is late, the last couples going in will probably get a few embraces only. I leave with a sense of mission accomplished. Later, my editor in chief will refuse that I describe what happened between I and the pretty sweetie that accompanied me to the theater, asking me to stick to describing what I saw, almost nothing of what I did. Okay. It is 6:00 pm, Algiers succumbs to the approaching dusk. I recall that cinema of love in the dark. Yes, I forgot to talk about the film. I think it was some sort of a Jet Li against the whole wide world. |
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Chawki Amari is a celebrated columnist and cartoonist at the al-Watan newspaper in Algeria. |
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