• All Together Now 15th Mar 2010

  One of my favourite movies is Cinema Paradiso. Its evocative story of the tender friendship between a young boy, Salvatore, and a cinema projectionist, Alfredo, in a small Italian town never fails to bring a tear to my eye. The relationship between the older man and boy speaks volumes about our childhood longing for acceptance and belonging. At the same time, the film‘s wider canvas – about the decline of cinema in a small community – presents a moving account of how cinema can captivate and transport us – but how it can also fall prey to the demands of the commercial marketplace.

  We were reminded of this while on our recent visit to Marrakech. It was then that we learned about the Save the Cinemas in Morocco campaign. It turns out that there were 300 cinemas in Morocco at the start of 2008 but there are now less than 50. The reason is a mixture of heavy taxation on cinema earnings combined with a saturated market of pirate DVDs. As a result, home cinema in Morocco is now in crisis.

  
  Having said that, protesters are running a great campaign. What we loved about their message was its focus on the value of cinema for all members of the community from the very young to the very old. These campaigners are passionate about stressing cinema’s freedom of expression, its creative spirit and educational power, and how it can open whole new worlds to children. Think of the impact of movies on young Salvatore in Cinema Paradiso.

  
  One of our most moving recent moments came as we visited the Eden Cinema, the heart of the campaign in Marrakech. As I walked into the deserted auditorium, the impact was tangible. Essentially a deserted room aside from its chairs, the cinema’s walls are painted faded lemon and are now crumbling and laden with cobwebs. Chipped wooden chairs in flaky green paint stand empty. The screen stretches, a white void. And above, the balcony looms, somewhat precariously. I’ve rarely experienced such a combination of emptiness and intense atmosphere. As Cinema Paradiso-style music played, I could hear the scraping of chairs on the concrete floor, the murmur of voices, the mix of laughter and gasps of alarm.

  
  In days gone by, the community of the Medina would flow in here for a great evening’s entertainment. Now the cinema stands in danger of being condemned. What a tragedy that would be. Let’s hope that the campaigners are successful in their efforts to restore Moroccan cinemas. This isn’t about simple nostalgia, as much as that spirit suffuses Cinema Paradiso. It’s about valuing the experience of a community gathering around shared stories, surely something as old as the earliest human settlements themselves.

  In our DVD age, where we can also watch movies online, we seem to have prioritized private convenience over the joys of the communal experience. And that’s our loss. Our loss because of the way that any cinema audience instantly raises the emotional temperature of its individual members’ responses. And because of the loss to our gathering as a community and recognizing that we’re united by things larger than our individual lives.

  I was struck by this again reading a recent Guardian article by writer Tobias Jones. Jones wrote an illuminating book, Utopian Dreams, a few years ago detailing his investigation of several experiments in community living across Europe and the UK. Well, he has now put his money where his mouth is, sold up his comfortable family home, and bought a woodland dwelling with his wife and two young children which they plan to run as a centre for people in personal crisis.

  Writing of his suspicion of the contemporary gated definition of the insular, nuclear family, Jones describes how he and his wife came to the point of giving up belongings for something that they realized they valued far more – the gift of belonging. They are going to start small, invite one or two people to stay, and gradually find their feet extending help and refuge to wayfarers, refugees, and those struggling with mental illness, breakdown, bereavement or penury. It might sound pious presented at second hand but Jones’ article doesn’t smack one whit of smugness or self-righteousness. It’s more about he and his wife trying to find a more purposeful life and giving away some of their good fortune to help others.

  I was particularly hit by these words, as they go to the heart of a niggling concern for many of us. He is talking about communities that have traditionally opened their doors to those in crisis:

  “It’s difficult to put into words quite why we want to try and do something similar. In part it’s because it feels to me as if old-fashioned charity is at the far periphery of our life. We have a few standing orders to worthy causes and put a small cheque in the post, or do a soup run, once in a while. But that sort of charity seems increasingly to me like carbon offsetting: a way to cleanse our conscience, to make us feel better about the fact that actually we could keep living just the way we want. It’s a sop, nothing more. I want charity, in the old cliche, to begin at home, to be an integral part of our lives – not just something we do with loose change once in a while”.

  Jones has seen the value of community living from the research for his previous book and it has left its mark. Like the Save the Cinemas in Morocco campaign, he is taking a simple stand to uphold community values over individual privilege. It’s not a stance that all of us could manage or we’re all ready to make. But both the Moroccan campaign and this family’s campaign testify to the poignant beauty of community. At this time of social networking and online communities, we’re of course finding all kinds of new ways of connecting. Let’s not forget, though, some of the older tried and tested ways – meeting face to face, helping each other out, or just sitting cheek by jowl with others in creaking cinema seats to watch a story that speaks to us all.

  By Jorrit
  
  

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