Changing times, changing cinema
Things change. Sometimes, with time, and sometimes, without it. But things change. Whether we like it or not. What was once close to your heart isn’t necessarily on your mind anymore. What was once home has turned into a place you won’t visit even in your nightmares. What was once isn’t what it is today. What is now can’t trust tomorrow. Anything can happen. And anything does happen.
That’s life.
You don’t have to survive the bitter cold of Himalayas to know how rotten or sweet time can be. Yet, regardless of one’s common sense (or lack of it), time is palpably popular compared to the concept of space. It’s ridiculously tough to make somebody understand space; try putting s on x-axis and t on y-axis and check how far you get.
Unless we are talking about cinema.
The celluloid magic, despite its DNA being rooted in recreational destruction, understands the concept of time as well as space. A film, to put it mildly, fits. One reason why cinema is capable of doing so is because of its set boundaries. Within the box, if you may. The ideas may flow in from outside of the box though. The required space to pull off a story is in congruence with the time expended. A most expensive theatre set would fall short of achieving this union.
Magnificent, no? Well, not as magnificent as the organic growth it entails.
You are growing old. But so are the movies you go through. When you first watched Pulp Fiction (1994) 17 years ago, you were a different person altogether. Here’s the catch: That film was different altogether too. With you, it has changed too. What you thought of it back then isn’t what you’ll think of it if you were to watch it right now. All the changes you notice showcase more about you than the movie you’re watching. It’s a mirror transfixed in your memory; the perfect intermingling of space and time for you. No other medium comes close to achieving this semblance.
In the meantime, you watch a play, let’s say, A Doll’s House by Ibsen. You’d seen it for the first time 10 years ago. Back then, the characters were portrayed by different actors. The play remains the same, actors change—a normal activity, nothing special. However, how are you to compare the two performances now or how it had really affected you? OK, for argument’s sake, let’s say the actors from a decade ago are the ones who work in this play once again. They’ve grown old, like the rest of us, and so has the play. Everybody involved here, including you, has changed. Which makes your personal reflection a bit too unstable. Cinema evolves with time because we do. Theatre can’t boast of this remarkable trait. Why? There is no union of space and time vis-a-vis you.
Unfair, no?
