An ode to the movie theatre

The movie theatre in Kenya is on its deathbed, plugged on a respirator and wheezing its last.

Recently, the tight-chinned pundits came on and glumly shook their heads before a forest of cameras and bemoaned that fate of movie theatres to lack of consistent patrons, increasing cost and piracy (they should have thrown in the lack of rains, as is the Kenyan way.)

I sent my movie guy, a squat shifty-eyed genius of a businessman who walks the dark bowels of piracy-land-an sms: See what you have done, driven the big movie suits out of town.

He replied in his usual cheek: I’m surprised this revolution is being televised.

He sells his movies for Sh50 a copy.

The picture quality is clear and the sound is crisp, which means you won’t hear a door banging in the background or someone asking over John Travolta’s voice, “Njugush, yule msupuu alirudisha ile charger ya Nokia?” like I once heard while watching a bad copy of the movie The Taking of Pelham 123.

And that, if you want to know the truth, was the funniest part of that movie - and the only part I remember.

My movie guy does a roaring business because he offers value and offers it consistently; he delivers to your doorstep, he offers discounts when you buy in bulk, he has an interactive website which he updates frequently and if he doesn’t hear from you, he calls you up and asks about your health, he also sends his customers smses when new movies hit his store.

But the clincher; he never forgets a customer’s name - even if it’s as complicated as Spirulina or Laudencia. Unfortunately, it is not this guy who has killed the movie theatre experience.

It has been overtaken by a more practical trend and to a large extent, economic sensibility.

But the theatres were good for something while they lived. In the 90’s when most of us were becoming men, the movies offered the perfect ground to break ice with that girl who had caught your eye because we had not quite fully embraced drinking alcohol as a social pastime, let alone a tool for dating.

So we all – at one point or the other - stood outside 20th Century or Kenya Cinema waiting for our dates, reciting the lines in our heads but, even more urgently, hoping we don’t say the wrong thing when she finally showed up.

And the women always showed up late, it was fashionable then as it is now.

Men waited for women back then, maybe because there were no mobile phones and you had to stand there and wait not sure if she would show up.

If she was a no-show an hour later, you would quickly dash to the phone booth two blocks away and call her landline, quickly disguise your voice if her mother answered and ask for the first name that popped into your head.