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墨書 Inktalez
Throughout my elementary school years, what captivated me the most, aside from comic books and novels, were the rare films. At that time, a Commune had a film projectionist and a set of equipment for showing movies. Logically, with only about ten platoons in a Commune, each could at least take turns watching films every month; even if each platoon was not too concentrated and needed to be divided into two locations, it could still manage to rotate every two months. However, I estimated that in a year, only two or three films would be shown in a particular Commune, and there were even years when not a single new movie would be available. Therefore, despite our enthusiasm for watching films, those in charge of the screenings never asked if we liked them; they always proceeded at their own pace. As a result, being able to watch movies three or four times a year was something worth celebrating.
As the day approached for the film screening, we would eagerly anticipate it days in advance and make plans with friends to go together. Our platoon did not have an auditorium; the venue for the screenings was an open grain-drying yard shared by two Production Teams in Changtangchong, which later became the place where my mother worked as a Barefoot Doctor. It was an outdoor drying area approximately thirty meters long and wide, with a thin layer of cement laid down in the middle. On the eastern side stood a row of tall trees, naturally suited for hanging the screen. In the center was a square table occupied by the film projectionist with his projector. The better seats around him were usually taken by leaders from our platoon and those quick-footed children from Changtangchong; there might also be a few pretty girls specially arranged by the platoon sitting beside the projectionist. As for us other children and adults from different courtyards, we generally had to wait until it was completely dark before carrying stools and gradually encircling the center to find our spots.
The moviegoers have almost all arrived, and the curtain has been hung up early, but there is no sign of the movie starting. It is said that the projectionist is having dinner at a farmhouse with several platoon leaders (at that time, people in the countryside generally did not have the habit of eating dinner). I heard the adults say that if the projectionist is not taken care of, the movie may be shown intermittently, let alone adding another film after one is shown.
During this time, the children couldn't sit still. Most of them left their seats to play with friends in other courtyards, or formed teams to go bushwhacking in different courtyards. Some young boys and girls ran to the side to whisper sweet nothings to their crushes, and some even waited until the movie was over before joining the crowd to go home.
The projectionist finally arrived with a slightly flushed face. In the corner of the nearby house, he started the generator with a hemp rope. When the sound was heard, the children immediately swarmed back. It wasn't until the motor sound gradually slowed down and a small light came on that the voice of the platoon leader first sounded, but no one liked to listen to it. Then a sweet voice said, "Tonight's movie is such and such," and a set of red, impactful subtitles slowly appeared on the curtain. The movie began.
The movies at that time were almost all about war, with very little other content appearing. The characters were completely standardized, full of righteousness, as if they had no worldly desires and only existed to serve the people. For a child who had just started to learn to read, something that had both sound and a story plot was still extremely attractive.
Movies were shown several times a year, but from beginning to end it was always the same film, plus about ten minutes of so-called current affairs news, and we still watched with great interest. We didn't have a theater, and when we showed movies, we were most afraid of rain. Although we always carefully selected the days, there were still times when the weather didn't cooperate. Even though the sky was clear during the day, when the movie reached a critical moment, suddenly raindrops would fall from the sky. The projectionist would be protected and taken into the nearby production team warehouse, while others would scatter to various homes to seek shelter from the rain. Although we knew the rain probably wouldn't stop for a while, we still held onto the hope and waited eagerly, until the rain got heavier, and then we reluctantly went home.
Our own movies couldn't satisfy the children's desires. While the adults needed rest after a day's work, the children seemed to have a tireless heart, able to follow the projectionist from one place to another, from one courtyard to another.
In the eyes of adults, I am considered a well-behaved child. I usually only go to the nearby two or three cinemas to catch movies, and I don't go too often. Some children whose parents are less strict manage to watch every single movie showing in the five or six theaters around them without missing a single one. However, despite how much they chase after films, they don't watch significantly more than I do. What they might envy is that perhaps as a reward for me, or due to my mother's different perspective compared to other villagers, after the cinema was built in the Commune, my mother actually took me to see several shows, including "The Fisherman's Pursuit," "The Marigold," and "The Legend of the White Snake," which were never screened by the platoon.
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