Written and directed by Giuseppe Tornatore, the movie Cinema Paradiso (1988) tells the story of my life, because I am its protagonist.
Let me explain. The film’s action unfolds in an Italian village in the 1950s, and tells the story of a young boy, Toto, who is fascinated by the cinema, developing a close friendship with Alfredo (magnificently played by Philippe Noiret), the projectionist at a movie house called the Cinema Paradiso.
Believe me, that boy is me! Just like Toto, I was also a shy child for whom the cinema was the only fascination and enchantment I had. And it was through the Seventh Art that, living within the tight confines of Graciosa and without access to television, I too awoke to the knowledge of things, life and the world.
So the cinema was a dream experience, a portal into the realm of fantasy, which resided not only in the stories I saw on-screen, but in the very equipmentg that gave life to the images. And the one who helped me cement this love for film was Mr. Belchior Cordeiro, projectionist at the old show hall in my childhood village. He was just like Alfredo in the film, because with him I established the same rapport and same deep, reciprocal esteem. I would cut school just to see him in his workshop entangled in tapes and reels, rewinding the film that had been shown the night before. From time to time the film would break and he had to cut and then glue the frames back together. I religiously kept the ones that fell on the floor, collecting them in a little box of suppositories from my grandmother.
A generous man, on movie nights Mr. Belchior let me into the projection booth. It was a sacred space where the priceless projector stood out, its inner workings prompting my profound amazement. Just like Alfredo, with meticulous gestures Mr. Belchior slid the film through labyrinth of prisms, mirrors, lenses, shutters, diaphragms, wheels and little wheels. Then he closed the door, and the clickety-clack of the film’s circular movement could be heard.
The lights would go out, and a commotion break out in the room. With a magician’s finesse, he sharpened the focus. And the flickering beam of light that came out of the lens exerted an immense fascination over me. That is when I would climb onto a stool to reach the peephole and, mesmerized just like Toto, revel in John Wayne’s punches, Humphrey Bogart’s gunshots, Clark Gable’s smiles, Charlton Heston’s muscles, Kim Novak’s eyes, Ingrid Bergman’s kisses…
And that was how, perched in a projection booth, I learned to explore and invent the world. One day I realized that life was not like in the movies after all. That day I wept uncontrollably, but I’ve never lost celluloid’s enchantment.
Published in Portuguese as “Lembrando o sr. Belchior Cordeiro e o filme da minha vida” at: