Movies are not just a source of entertainment but pure magic that captures our imagination and emotions. As a teenager, I was besotted with the wonder of cinema. The moving images, the dialogues, and the music were like a symphony that trapped me completely. I eagerly watched every movie my school screened for charity; the cowboys and heroes like Monte Christo and Robin Hood were my absolute favourites.
My passion for movies only grew with time. I was fascinated by the intricate workings of the movie theatre, the film rolls, the mechanism of lights, projectors, and dark rooms. I was always on the lookout for anything related to films, and when my classmate gave me some discarded film strips, I felt like I had struck gold.
But I didn’t just want to collect the 16mm film strips. I wanted to showcase them in my private cinema, where I could revel in the magic of cinema. I had no money to buy a mini projector, so I had to rely on my imagination and ingenuity.
I took an old shoebox, my mother’s scissors, and my father’s Eveready torch and got to work. I cut a small hole in the side of the shoebox, just big enough for a single frame of the 16mm film strip to be visible. I placed the torch inside the box and turned it on, pointing it at the blank wall above my bed. Then I covered the door, window, and grill with anything I could find, like bedsheets and sarongs, to create total darkness.
My father’s Eveready torch
When everything was ready, I moved the film strip in front of the hole in the shoebox, and suddenly, I was transported to another world. The moving images flickered on the wall, and I was utterly mesmerised by the magic of cinema. Even though it was just a few feet of a film strip, it felt like I was watching a full-length movie. Of course, it was never a movie, for I could not move the strip at the speed of film projectors. It looked more like a still movie. But I felt good and had a sense of achievement.
I felt like a true innovator and creator then, and my passion for movies only intensified.
With my new-found passion for cinema and pride in my makeshift shoebox projector, I was eager to share my love for movies with everyone I knew. My siblings were the first to be subjected to my experiments as I assembled them in my tiny bedroom, closing all the windows and doors to make the room as dark as possible. They were my guinea pigs.
Being younger than me, they were easily impressed and eager to see what I had in store for them. Promising them a wonder, I switched on the Eveready torch and moved the film strip by hand. Their eyes widened with wonder and amazement as they watched the flickering images on the wall.What kind of movies were shown at the author's school charity screenings? How did the author eventually acquire a proper movie projector? Did the author pursue a career in the film industry?
As I became more confident in my abilities, when my classmates dropped in to hang out, I convinced them to my impromptu movie screenings. They were amazed by my makeshift projector and the shows I put on.
Looking back on those days, I realise that my passion for cinema was not just about the movies themselves but the joy of sharing that experience with others. And while my improvised projector may have been a far cry from the high-tech equipment used in movie theatres today, it was the start of a lifelong love affair with the magic of cinema.
Now, as I sit in a state-of-the-art movie theatre surrounded by fellow movie lovers, I can’t help but smile as I think back to those early days and my humble shoebox projector.
Cyril Stanley A story of gratitude — Denzil recalls a friend who looked out for him in his budding years in Sri Lanka Denzil Jayasinghe 11 min read · Aug 27, 2022 1 Give us a bit of background on how you met Cyril. It was the seventies in the sleepy village of Dalugama , my ancestral hometown, some ten kilometres from Colombo. With their flared bell bottoms and Afro-style hair, it was easy to notice Cyril and his younger brother Edward. I’d bump into the duo in the neighbourhood as I walked home after a day at college. A casual hello greeting turned into a conversation and an evolving friendship with the duo at an age when making friends was effortless. However, it was Cyril who reached out to me first. What did the brothers look like? C yril was a younger version of Smokey Robinson and his brother, Edward, a junior Lionel Richie but darker. Both had curly hair, grown long, copying the Afro-American idols of the seventies. Smokey Robinson, Cyril Stanley lookalike Where did they
My experiences of rebellions How waves of violence in Sri Lanka broke a young man’s heart Warning — Distressing scenes described in this story. A YOUTH INSURRECTION DURING MY BOYHOOD 1971 — There was a strong student and youth socialist movement styled on the “Che Guevara” clique. Many poor, unemployed and underprivileged young people joined this movement. My two elder cousins, my father’s brother’s children, Sisira and Marie, were also in this rebel group. In their home. They replaced Jesus’s picture with that of Mao Zedong and Che Guevara. Both of them, teenagers, boldly spoke about a future socialist society. A society in which everyone was equal in Sri Lanka. Young as I was, it was a bit gibberish to me. In April 1971, the movement turned violent. The insurrection began when the rebels started attacking police stations. The Sri Lankan government responded by deploying armed forces with brutal force. Rebels cut power lines and blocked roads with trees in the countryside. Schools wer
Arya Sinhala This story is about the significance of this costume in my family and its cultural relevance. My father wore shirts and pants as any English-educated Sri Lankan male did back in the day. Everybody gave their children English names. I am named Denzil Bernard. A few years after I was born, in the 1950s, Sri Lanka was trying to assert its ethnic identity, a decade after it gained independence from Great Britain. A new prime minister, espousing an ethnocentric identity, came into power. Emulating Indian leaders’ post-independence direction, he gave up his Western attire, despite his Oxford education and wore the national dress, Arya Sinhala. Arya is an ethnic and cultural designation to which the Sinhala race makes claims. The cultural transformation started in my family. My sister, born four years after me, was named Rekha Flora. She had an ethnic name and a Western name. Occasionally my father donned the national dress. My father’s elder brother ultimately gave up his West
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