We decided to go to the cinéma that evening. France released a film about Yves Saint Laurent. However, by the time we’d listened to the street band, perused the sales, regarded the pedestrians (the café chairs always face the sidewalk) and finished our café, the film showings at the cinéma nearby no longer suited us. Deeper into the 5th arrondissement, we found a theater that showed old films. The next one, Alexander and Fanny, was in 15 minutes. I recognized the name of the director commended by my host family from earlier years.
Hannah and I found ourselves wedge on velvety cushions between an older Madame who seemed to have been sitting there since noon, and the wall. We felt very cultured in that old theater of old people.
The movie portrayed subtitles which was lucky for all of us since the film was carried out in Swedish. Somehow, Hannah and I had overlooked this detail. Once I successfully focused my eyes on the french text and stopped my ears from straining at the swedish, the movie was much more comprehensible—though it took an hour for the plot to gain any purpose or momentum. After 2hrs followed by a silent intermission of 3min, the intrigue finally escalated with a treacherous marriage, child abuse, fire, and poison. Though it took nearly four hours, in the end, I thought it a good decision—both by the directors and by the audience—to persist.
The film was long and sometimes tedious, but all the learned and smart things are, so I felt myself quite well-educated as I unfolded my umbrella in the lamplight before the stone steps of the cinéma and set out into Paris with my friend and a high brow.
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