Early start this morning, called in at 5 am to help with an emergency case in theatre.Such are the delays that are a reality in our work, we’d only just got knife to skin by the time I was relieved at 8.
I’ve got the day off today, so after a couple more hours in the land of nod, I was raring to go.
I’m really making the most of the return of the French Film Festival this year. I was at the premiere of last year’s ill fated festival, which was in a densely packed theatre the night before our first nationwide COVID lockdown. I remember the anxious titters from the audience every time someone coughed. The news that the festival went bankrupt shortly afterwards didn’t come as a surprise, sad though it was. To make sure it survives this time round, I have tickets to see 11 films, mostly with various friends, but today’s daytime showing I’m seeing by myself. It’s my fifth movie so far. I was mystified that the theatre was so full when I booked my ticket, but looking around the room now, I can see why. It’s a totally different demographic to the evening sessions I’ve been to. This is the attack of the aged – the retirees strike back. I’m the youngest by a considerable margin. There are about forty women here, all with various styles of short grey (gray? I’m trying to remember which is the correct English spelling) hair. There’s even one “Karen” haircut.
Do you think she knows it? I’m guessing the Karen meme has passed them by.
In contrast, there are only three men here. I’m hoping that’s because men of that era don’t love art house foreign films, rather than any more sinister reason. One of the men looks eerily like Salman Rushdie. Is he still on the run? Just in case, I’m not going to reveal what cinema we’re at.
On with the show.