G) Cinemascope

Cinemascope

Come in out of the rain. Settle in the
gloom, arrange your vat of slurp and
rustle your packets, fold your mac.

Now I know why a baby cries when it
leaves the womb; the reality outside is
a slap. If you're anything like me you'll

take off your shoes and slip your
stockinged feet beneath the seat in front,
letting the other guy's coat glaze the

moment with a sneaky hug. Cinemascope
is that dark, unpinnable bug that wraps us up
like paper round a plastic straw, the itch

which makes us switch off all the lights and
open crisps for a three pound fifty vid;
the lovely, lazy crick you get from staring up;

the fact that it's so big; and all those people
sharing, spreading their stars thinner than the
air; and the person beside you, whispering.

It's actually a lens. I know because in the projector
room I held the film between my finger and
thumb and it was like touching a friend's skeleton.