Every other Sunday I usher at an independent arts cinema, called Cinema City. Sometimes lots of people come and sometimes only a handful of regulars turn up. This week we were showing 'Into Great Silence', which the programme described as "a near silent meditation on monastic life".
My first surprise came in the running time of the film. I guessed one, maybe one and a half hours at a push. It was two and three quarters. Almost three hours. Remember, it's "a near silent meditation on monastic life". I decided to take my knitting and a can of red bull.
I also assumed that this would be one of those weeks where it would just be me, one die-hard regular and maybe a handful of people who were sheltering from the rain. So I didn't rush in, patiently negotiated my way past the coaches parked outside the cinema, spent longer than usual finding the perfect parking spot and then killed a bit of time buying a pack of mints and a bottle of water.
When I finally sashayed up to the cinema, the queue was snaking out of the door and over the bridge, way up past the art school. At least fifty people were already seated and most of them were wearing either dog collars or habits. The coaches had delivered a party of eighty. In the end we had to turn people away, even though our cinema seats 300 people and the other usherette and I sat in the aisle.
The actual film hadn't been delivered the previous day (which never, ever happens, I have to say, if you're in the area and want to see a good film; don't be put off!), so we had to show a DVD. Which wasn't so bad, it's not the kind of quality the box office manager is proud to show, but hey, it's better than turning 300 people away. But the film is in French and our DVD had German subtitles. Which you may be thinking doesn't matter as it's "virtually silent", but when there's probably not even 15 minutes dialogue in the film, that dialogue assumes even greater importance than in a film filled with speech.
But that didn't spoil this incredible, unique film. The greatest surprise of my day was that it was absolutely mesmerising. Within twenty minutes I was totally absorbed in the experience. This was helped, I'm sure, by one of the earliest scenes showing an elderly monk fastidiously measuring and cutting the cloth for a set of robes. Followed by an incredibly long, lingering shot of a group of white buttons. It was so, so beautiful. The film of the monks' daily actions was interspersed with motionless snippets of everyday life: A halved apple sitting on a red and white gingham napkin, the open pages of a book, a layer of snow on their vegetable beds.
I was reminded me of Stephanie and Mav's blog, 3191. Such still, natural beauty, with just the silent buzz of the dust filled air as a soundtrack. It was so quiet that the resounding echoes of the monks' footsteps was almost offensive. I put my hands over my ears when one of them sawed some logs.
It is a magical film, a truly life affirming and enhancing experience.
In one part, we saw the monks trudging off in the snow for a walk, most of them fairly elderly, talking quietly amongst themselves (it's a silent order apart from a weekly walk). And it took me a little while before I made it out, but the next shot showed them taking it in turns to slide down a snowy mountain, crashing into one another and whooping with laughter!
The film made me think about the amount of sound and fury we fill our daily lives with. Driving home, after getting used to the muted, dusty colours of the film, I was struck by the visual barrage of street lights and car headlamps. The constant electrical hum of the computer and fridge seemed incredibly intrusive, when I got back to my otherwise silent home (the girls were elsewhere!).
I also thought about this post by Risa: I felt there were similarities and felt a certain amount of recognition, but wondered if it would be possible to be as spiritually absorbed and indulgent if the surroundings were more like those of the boys in her centre.
But the lasting effect of this film was a feeling of stillness and satisfaction and a reminder to cherish the small, quiet, unobtrusively beautiful details of every day life.
The final surprise of the day was what a messy lot deeply spiritual and religious cinema-goers are. I've never before had to clear so many sweet wrappers, empty bottles and ticket stubs from under the seats in the two and a half years I've been there.
I noticed they seem to favour Murray mints and Werther's Originals which, I suppose, amounts to no great surprise at all.
