Few films have grown with me.
On the surface it is a symbol for my time running a multiplex projection booth, conjuring memories of dark corridors lined with spinning silver saucers, feeding rivers of celluloid past luminous gates of xenon, to meet their timely intermittence. The soundscape collaboratively culminating into one harmonious hum, serving as a familiar lifeblood to us caretakers roaming the darkness. I miss those shifts when the lamphouses flickered feverishly, dancing beams of light through dusty portals,…