I remember the first time I went to the cinema. It was 2005, and I was 6. My family and I went to the mall to get lunch and watch Janji Joni (Joni’s Promise, 2005). Before we headed over to the cinema, my grandmother picked up my younger brother. They told me he couldn’t come with us because it’s a movie for older kids and adults. As a child, unaware of the trenches of adulthood, I was beyond excited at this classification. 

And in that theatre, sat in between my mom and dad, I was entranced. 

Not only by the charm that is young Nicolas Saputra, but by the humor, the absurd plot twists, and the romance. Everyone in that dark room laughed together, held their breath together. This thing that’s playing on the big screen—something more than just moving pictures—unifies strangers for an hour and a half. Then, you walk out of that theater feeling renewed. Like you’ve just been privy to this whole other world, to this person’s story and secrets, and you imagine how you’d build your world differently with this new information.

All the memes about leaving the cinema with a new personality are based on facts. From the second the lights dim in that theater, you’ve given yourself to the medium and allow yourself to be vulnerable: to put yourself in someone else’s shoes, to have things pointed out about you. You’re sitting for a ride into something you have yet to understand, but soon will. 

In that dark room, you are graced with the anonymity of not being seen. In your seat, you can enjoy being noticed without scrutiny, being exposed without judgment. With all the heads facing the screen, you can be seen without having to perform. You just need to listen and pay attention.

There are no distractions in the cinema. The visuals are a behemoth to be reckoned with. So bright against the blackness, warming the apples of your cheeks with its colors. The towering screen asks you not to miss any details. The sound surrounds you, giving you goosebumps when the score crescendos or making the hair on your arms stand up when it gets too quiet. And one day you’ll hear a song used in a scene that pierces through you in a way unthinkable before, something you’ll still think about months later. 

Going to the cinema alone affords you a reprieve from the hustle and bustle of daily life; it gives you a break from your own thoughts. A little me-time, a little self-care. The first time I went to the cinema alone was for La La Land in 2016. I was feeling a bit lonely at the time, but surprisingly, the solution was to watch a movie alone. It was in this beautiful, standalone two-story theatre—a first of its kind for me. Sat alone, among a few scattered patrons, watching a beautifully bittersweet movie in a beautiful old theatre. I didn’t have anyone I could immediately unload my thoughts on after, so I just ruminated on that story all the way back to the dorms. It’s soothing in its own way.  

Even so, I never truly grasped how important the cinema is for the community until a couple of years ago. I understood it to be a place where people can convene, explore new things, build friendships, and romance. But not the essence of cinema as a pillar of community. 

A few years back, I went to Rio Cinema (the iconic independent, community-run cinema in London) to see Fire of Love (2022). It was for their Classic Matinee program, which is their monthly screening targeted towards seniors, where tickets are cheap for those over sixty. And so I went, on a random Wednesday afternoon; it was me and a bunch of older men and women, sipping our free coffees and munching on our biscuits as we watched this beautiful love story. 

There’s something comforting to know that people who are on the outskirts of the hustler-by-day, free-by-night culture still have a space they can go to to socialize in a place that values them: free concessions, cheaper tickets, daytime showing, a mix of classics and newer releases. Chatting to the employees while you’re getting your complimentary coffee and biscuits adds a spark of joy to your day. 

We are also seeing an increase in younger people going to the cinema more often. For some of us, streaming was a novelty, but for those younger, going to the cinema is the novelty. But the more you understand the role that cinema plays in society, the more you’ll relate to it. How magnificent it is to still feel that first-time excitement every time you go to your local cinema. 

We are increasingly treating cinema as a third space. There’s an increasing number of themed screenings, film clubs, and community-run film festivals. And we mustn’t forget the phenomenon that was Barbenheimer, where people across the world sold out tickets and got dressed up, and peripherally, the Minions: The Rise of Gru (2022). People yearn to connect, and the cinema is a great place for it. But, more importantly, it is a place to be respected. 

The infrastructure of streaming is designed to normalize watching movies as something casual. Open the app, watch a film, picture-in-picture. Start movie, scroll, chat. Cinema is a place where you go in not only with respect for the material but also for other people. To be together in the same room and share appreciation for the art form; to share closed quarters while sharing the space for others to go on the journey at their own pace. Get off your phones, don’t have conversations in there, and respect each other. 

All of this is to simply say thank you, cinema.