It’s been a long time since I queued to see a movie. It reminded me of the old days in Dublin, except that we weren’t escaping the rain and wind and damp and cold. There, it would have been a perfect place to go for a warm afternoon with entertainment, hand-holding, and even a few kisses, in the only private place we knew or had access to. This was in downtown Ottawa, and the line stretched around the block. At first we couldn’t believe it, assuming that they were there for a more popular film, not the story of a young Irish emigrant in the 1950s. But ‘Brooklyn’ was the draw. The patrons were mostly older, some genuinely old - the sort you would expect to see at an art house theatre, which this was. As the screening time came closer, and the line didn’t seem to get any shorter, a young woman came out to inspect the crowd. The second time she came out, she announced to the line that it was OK: the movie would not start until everyone was inside. The cinema was huge, with a balcony too, and it was almost full by the time we climbed up there. It’s years since I’ve been that far away from the screen. Fortunately the little old man sitting in front of me had shrunk sufficiently that I could easily see over his head. A pleasant young man went to the front of the theatre, shushed the crowd, and asked that if there was an empty seat beside you, to put up your hand so that those still filing in could find a place. He pointed out that if your coat had not paid for its seat, then it would have to give it up to a human. Everyone laughed and the mood of the crowd was warm in an Irish way. Val and I compared the theatre to the old Savoy Cinema in Dublin, and the woman sitting beside us asked where in Ireland we were from. She knew the Savoy too. She emigrated in 1971 – just for a year, but then stayed. It was that sort of afternoon: strangers comparing stories because many were certainly just like us and our neighbor - emigrants.
The film was superb. There was not a single false note. Val and I had both read Colm Toibin’s book, but it didn’t resonate the way the movie did. The emotions, the experiences, everything was familiar - some funny, some incredibly painful. It struck me that Saoirse Ronin looks just like Mummy did at that age, absolutely lovely.
The film was superb. There was not a single false note. Val and I had both read Colm Toibin’s book, but it didn’t resonate the way the movie did. The emotions, the experiences, everything was familiar - some funny, some incredibly painful. It struck me that Saoirse Ronin looks just like Mummy did at that age, absolutely lovely.
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