Dear Beautiful Friend,
How are you? It has been a year since I last saw you. The last place, I think, was in that cinema in London. Do you remember? It was one of those lovely old cinemas with crumbling art deco cornices and a heavy velvet curtain. You could smell a hundred years of history in the carpets, in the sagging upholstery of the seats. They used to call cinemas 'dream palaces'. Now, these new multiplexes are more like dull dream factories. These old places have a beautiful atmosphere which is very important. An atmosphere which, I fear, is now lost to this world. Back then, when the curtains went slowly up & the lights went down, you knew you were in for something truely special. What comes instantly to mind as I write this down is the first time I saw you. In 1979.
I find it hard to believe you are now 36 years old. To me, you still look amazing & strangely contemporary. You have captured a period of time which is very dear to me. You are a glimpse into another lost world. A world of heavy black rotary phones, typed letters, reel-to-reel tape recorders, unconcerned smoking. A mechanised world as opposed to computerised one. A world of Playboy Bunnies, a real counter-culture, Nixon paranoia & mad photojournalists. All of your images are still very precious to me. You capture the nostalgic, waning light of the 1970's in a membrane of celluloid like a prehistoric hummingbird caught in amber resin.
This year I would have very much liked to have seen you in a lovely 70mm print but sadly that was not be possible. The good news is I have bought you in the 35mm format from a man in Culver City, California. I flew over there from Sydney especially to make the purchase. This was my mission. I will tell you one thing, the light and space of Los Angeles really put the zap on my head. Kirk has an office, a very cluttered one, connected to a warehouse which is full of movie reels. Every film you can imagine is in there. Thousands of beautiful dreams kept in circular, metal cans on racks. He was very hospitable, this Kirk fellow. He showed me around Los Angeles. We drove past Twentieth Century Fox movie studios. We ate Tex-Mex food & drank margaritas in one of those horrible Southern California mini malls. Kirk had a very interesting life. His father and his grandfather before him had both worked in the movie business. Stuntmen, editors, property masters....all kinds of jobs, including being a movie projectionist. This how he came to possess so many movies.
Finally, I flew back home with you. Of course, they stopped making nitrate film stock in the 1950's so there was no reason why I could not travel with you. Being already exposed, nor would the x-rays machines damage you in anyway. You are comprised of five reels in total, each reel being 2000 feet in length. I must now purchase a 35mm projector & learn how to operate it. I will do this in Sydney or maybe I will rent out the last older style movie theatre in Sydney's Easter Suburbs. The Randwick Ritz. For one night. In any case, it is high time I saw you again. I think once a year provides a sufficient enough break. There is a conflict in every cinephile's heart. Between the rational and irrational viewing habits. Any more frequently and I run the risk of becoming over familiar with you. That is something I can never allow to happen.
I'm still amazed at your ability to show me something new with each viewing. Not that you are the one who is changing. Of course, being human, I am the one who is in a state of flux, changing all the time, getting older, wiser, stupider, more urbane, uglier, more distinguished....whatever...whereas you remain consistent. Your central metaphor, the journey up the river into the heart of darkness remains a constant in my life. Sometimes, to live, we must take these inner journeys to find out what our breaking point is, otherwise you will never know who you truely are. At one point or another, a man must allow himself to be pushed to the limits. You have taught me many lessons. You have revealed to me that sometimes, in the face of craziness, all you can do is surf the wave and hope not to get hit by incoming mortar shells.
Other cinephiles will go with Kubrick's space opera on acid or one of those long David Lean movie or perhaps some other stale old classic. For me, you are the only one. After all these years I am still enthralled by your images, your sound design. Your tripped-out synth soundtrack which still sends the shivers down my spine. (I still have my original audio cassette). Enthralled by your characters: Willard, Chef, Chief, Clean, Kurtz, Lance....they are all like an extension of my own family. I even admire what some idiots describe as your less than successful third act, the way it loops back into the beginning of the film. So that Willard is always waking up in Saigon.
When I came back Australian customs raked me over the proverbial coals. It is a little unusual to be travelling with very little luggage and five large reels of film. Not as unusual as say someone's ashes or a suitcase full of vacuum sealed bison meat but still....unusual. After standing off on the sidelines for forty minutes, my life turned upside down and x-rayed by questions of a highly personal nature, they finally let me go. Unfortunately, the world has changed my friend. Bureaucrats and junior policemen control the borders and entertainment has become about cartoon movies with no soul. Adults now watch superhero movies.
Yes, it is all very sad. Anyway, now you are up to date with everything. Soon you will be carefully loaded into a projector for your inaugural run (at least with me). Then we will see what we can see.
Much love,
Roman W. Payne.
How are you? It has been a year since I last saw you. The last place, I think, was in that cinema in London. Do you remember? It was one of those lovely old cinemas with crumbling art deco cornices and a heavy velvet curtain. You could smell a hundred years of history in the carpets, in the sagging upholstery of the seats. They used to call cinemas 'dream palaces'. Now, these new multiplexes are more like dull dream factories. These old places have a beautiful atmosphere which is very important. An atmosphere which, I fear, is now lost to this world. Back then, when the curtains went slowly up & the lights went down, you knew you were in for something truely special. What comes instantly to mind as I write this down is the first time I saw you. In 1979.
I find it hard to believe you are now 36 years old. To me, you still look amazing & strangely contemporary. You have captured a period of time which is very dear to me. You are a glimpse into another lost world. A world of heavy black rotary phones, typed letters, reel-to-reel tape recorders, unconcerned smoking. A mechanised world as opposed to computerised one. A world of Playboy Bunnies, a real counter-culture, Nixon paranoia & mad photojournalists. All of your images are still very precious to me. You capture the nostalgic, waning light of the 1970's in a membrane of celluloid like a prehistoric hummingbird caught in amber resin.
This year I would have very much liked to have seen you in a lovely 70mm print but sadly that was not be possible. The good news is I have bought you in the 35mm format from a man in Culver City, California. I flew over there from Sydney especially to make the purchase. This was my mission. I will tell you one thing, the light and space of Los Angeles really put the zap on my head. Kirk has an office, a very cluttered one, connected to a warehouse which is full of movie reels. Every film you can imagine is in there. Thousands of beautiful dreams kept in circular, metal cans on racks. He was very hospitable, this Kirk fellow. He showed me around Los Angeles. We drove past Twentieth Century Fox movie studios. We ate Tex-Mex food & drank margaritas in one of those horrible Southern California mini malls. Kirk had a very interesting life. His father and his grandfather before him had both worked in the movie business. Stuntmen, editors, property masters....all kinds of jobs, including being a movie projectionist. This how he came to possess so many movies.
Finally, I flew back home with you. Of course, they stopped making nitrate film stock in the 1950's so there was no reason why I could not travel with you. Being already exposed, nor would the x-rays machines damage you in anyway. You are comprised of five reels in total, each reel being 2000 feet in length. I must now purchase a 35mm projector & learn how to operate it. I will do this in Sydney or maybe I will rent out the last older style movie theatre in Sydney's Easter Suburbs. The Randwick Ritz. For one night. In any case, it is high time I saw you again. I think once a year provides a sufficient enough break. There is a conflict in every cinephile's heart. Between the rational and irrational viewing habits. Any more frequently and I run the risk of becoming over familiar with you. That is something I can never allow to happen.
I'm still amazed at your ability to show me something new with each viewing. Not that you are the one who is changing. Of course, being human, I am the one who is in a state of flux, changing all the time, getting older, wiser, stupider, more urbane, uglier, more distinguished....whatever...whereas you remain consistent. Your central metaphor, the journey up the river into the heart of darkness remains a constant in my life. Sometimes, to live, we must take these inner journeys to find out what our breaking point is, otherwise you will never know who you truely are. At one point or another, a man must allow himself to be pushed to the limits. You have taught me many lessons. You have revealed to me that sometimes, in the face of craziness, all you can do is surf the wave and hope not to get hit by incoming mortar shells.
Other cinephiles will go with Kubrick's space opera on acid or one of those long David Lean movie or perhaps some other stale old classic. For me, you are the only one. After all these years I am still enthralled by your images, your sound design. Your tripped-out synth soundtrack which still sends the shivers down my spine. (I still have my original audio cassette). Enthralled by your characters: Willard, Chef, Chief, Clean, Kurtz, Lance....they are all like an extension of my own family. I even admire what some idiots describe as your less than successful third act, the way it loops back into the beginning of the film. So that Willard is always waking up in Saigon.
When I came back Australian customs raked me over the proverbial coals. It is a little unusual to be travelling with very little luggage and five large reels of film. Not as unusual as say someone's ashes or a suitcase full of vacuum sealed bison meat but still....unusual. After standing off on the sidelines for forty minutes, my life turned upside down and x-rayed by questions of a highly personal nature, they finally let me go. Unfortunately, the world has changed my friend. Bureaucrats and junior policemen control the borders and entertainment has become about cartoon movies with no soul. Adults now watch superhero movies.
Yes, it is all very sad. Anyway, now you are up to date with everything. Soon you will be carefully loaded into a projector for your inaugural run (at least with me). Then we will see what we can see.
Much love,
Roman W. Payne.
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