I have always enjoyed films, predominantly watching them on television and as time and technology progressed via video and DVD. These technological innovations suited me well, it meant I could revisit them whenever I wanted too, in the comfort of my own home. I have similar drives when it comes to my other love, books. Whilst I am a great champion of libraries, I have never enjoyed having to give the books back. Some could argue that this demonstrates attachment issues. Another aspect that links these two activities is the dichotomy between the private and the public, that is libraries public/people, cinemas public/people. To put it bluntly, I don’t ‘do’ people very well. So, places that should fill me with joy, actually make me very uncomfortable. I am sure by now some will be analysing these statements, perhaps even through a Freudian lens.
So, what brought these thoughts about, and indeed started me thinking about other aspects of my life? Or to use a psychoanalytical turn brought them from my unconscious to my conscious state of being. It was a trip to the cinema, to watch ‘Freuds Last Session’. This wasn’t my first Freud film, that was ‘A Dangerous Method’. Back in 2011 when I went to the pictures to watch it (and brought the DVD afterwards!), I was doing a degree that involved psychology and my personal life was different. I went as part of a couple; it was simply a night out. So why has going to the ‘pictures’ become one, or possibly the most important part of my ‘social life’?
To attempt to answer this perhaps the work of Carl Jung can assist? Jung was Sigmund Freuds leading acolyte and friend until a catastrophic falling out. So, to answer this question, I will operationalise two of Carl Jung’s key ideas. ‘Self-reflection’, which promises a transformative journey of self-discovery, and ‘Individuation’, the lifelong process of becoming your true authentic self.
Four years ago, my life changed, not only on a day-to-day basis but also at a deeper psychological level. I now live alone and over these last years I have distanced myself from friends and others. I did lead a relatively social life before; I think I was considered good company. On reflection a lot of these interactions were done through a sense of guilt in letting others down, rather than for me personally. So, I now live an almost total solitary life. I work three days a week, I am self employed and work on my own so have minimum social interaction.
So, has what could be considered an extremely isolated way of life left me feeling lonely, and excluded? Well, no, I have never felt so content, I never feel lonely and am very content with my own company. When I watch advertisements and programs on TV about people feeling lonely and excluded, it doesn’t feel like it is applicable to me. I think I should point out I do have empathy with people who do have these feelings, but why am I different?
So how do I fill ‘my unforgiving minute with sixty seconds’ worth of distance run’? My greatest pleasure is reading and have a very eclectic taste, I can lose hours immersed in a book, writing, cricket, the radio is my favourite medium, films on DVD or TV, or simply sitting and thinking. It can be seen that these are solitary endeavours, however, humans are social creatures we are hard wired to interact with others. This I believe is where the differences occur, not in do some need social interaction and others don’t, but in how much and just as importantly in what form?
This is where the cinema, for me, comes into its own providing me with the volume and form of sociality I require. In part this is contributed by the cinema that I attend. To get to the cinema I walk along the seafront, this is always an invigorating and relaxing walk at any time of the year, it’s a mix of the timelessness and constant change of the sea contrasted by just a mile over the water the United Kingdom’s largest container Port of Felixstowe that caters for some of the biggest container ships in the world. At night when it is illuminated it appears like a landscape from a Si-fi movie. As I turn inland its just a few hundred yards, I pass the small memorial garden dedicated to the destruction and deaths caused by the 1953 floods. Some of these deaths occurred in the area where I live now, indeed my house was under 6 feet of water. A poignant reminder of the power of the sea, made even more pertinent with global warming, but in an elegiac way giving me a sense of place and belonging.
As I cross the road and turn the corner there is the cinema. Setting eyes on the frontage brings a smile and sense of anticipation of what is to come. Its elegant exterior emblazoned with its rather wonderful name ‘Electric Palace’ in gold. It first opened its doors in 1911 and is one of the oldest surviving purpose-built cinemas, and still retains much of its original fabric. The palace closed in 1956 after being damaged in the 1953 floods, re-opening in 1981 as a community cinema run by The Harwich Electric Palace Trust. There are no ‘staff’ at the Palace everyone is a volunteer, which can at times be slightly chaotic but more than made up for by the shared love of this wonderful place and convivial feeling of everyone wanting to be there. The ticket office is a small wooden cubical on the outside of the building set back by a few feet on a slightly raised platform from the path, flanked on each side by doors leading into the cinema. A ‘new’ innovation is that you can now purchase your ticket online, so getting your phone out to show the always happy volunteer in the ticket office feels somehow disappointing and not in keeping with your surroundings. However, this does not last for long, the person checks your name and ticket number on a piece of paper and crosses your name of with a pen. After a pleasant chat, there is never large queues, and no one seems to mind this leisurely procedure. Side step to the right another chat with the duty ‘manager’ then to the chap that shows you through the curtain, you enter the auditorium straight from the street.
It’s like the 1970s animated children’s TV series Mr Benn when you step through the curtain you enter an enchanted world, full of possibilities and adventure. The auditorium is a thing of wonder; the arched ceiling with its wonderful ornate ceiling and walls, the gently sloping floor, all leading the eye to the curtained screen and to the right the small window, where you can purchase your sweets, drinks, and ice creams. This is normally a place for another chat with the volunteer and other cinema goers, after all we are all there for the same reason.
Then back to your seat, the house music stops, the lights dim, the curtain draws back…………. then the picture starts.
So that’s the story of the joy my local cinema gives me but how does it actually translate into my wants and needs for a fulfilling social life? It soon became obvious when my circumstances changed that I don’t require a partner or close friends in my life. I should take this opportunity to explain that when I had them, I enjoyed my life and found it fulfilling. I feel very comfortable in my own company this also has the advantage of allowing me to engage in the activities I like, when I like, and not to the detriment of others. I suppose this means I am not plagued with the feeling of being selfish.
My walk to the cinema along the sea front brings a wonderful sense of calm, and despite being the same walk every time the scenery is constantly changing, the sea and sky are never the same twice. On my other side is the land, which I have known since childhood giving a sense of permanence. Most certainly a liminal space to be treasured. When I reach the memorial garden I can reflect not only on the past, but the present, it is a history of my home, community and ultimately me. This provides a sense of continuity, and place, if you belong somewhere, you can never be truly lonely.
This isn’t just about landscape, sometimes on my journey I pass people, we share just a smile or “evening” others a short conversation. The same can be said of the people at the cinema, with both the volunteers and fellow cinema goers. These Brief Encounters connect you to the other, reminding you that ‘no man is an island’. You can share and indeed be empathetic to the feelings of the other person no matter the brevity of the interaction. These ‘micro’ interactions occur multiple times in the course of the day, when we are in shops, at bus stops and on the street, but we can all to easily forget them, and that’s a shame. I have learned to treasure them, and they have become the mainstay of my social world.
It is my belief that these interactions with place and people are an integral part to the path of ‘individuation’, finding my authentic self. So, whilst I am often alone I am never lonely indeed I am very content. So, moving from the language of analysis to the language of cinema…….
That’s a Wrap.
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