My brain is dithering big time. I've been looking at my attempts at a novel and I hate it. I know I'm being overly self critical. I also know it will pass.
Gotta keep writing though. I checked out one of the writing prompts, and started to write up a piece for it. When I went to post I realised I'd somehow managed to reply to the second prior prompt, and it had already been answered. So I deleted. The original piece, written this morning, was a much longer affair, which I managed to cut down to 100 words above the word count ideal. This is the piece in its entirety. It's also the first piece of actual writing (not musing) I've posted publicly.
“There isn’t time,” he growled.
“Look,” I said, “You called. I’m here. We can sort this out.”
I stared at the mass of twisted polymer ribbons, piled up in irregular mounds on the floor. “ETA?”
“It’s supposed to be on-screen, for 10.30.” He sunk down onto the plinth supporting the weight of Ernemann 15, No.1, and buried his face in his hands. “They’ll fire me for this.”
“Nonsense,” I said, in as convincing tone as I could muster. Looking at my watch, then back to the serpentine coils, I tried to formulate a plan of action. “Half an hour—we can do this. On your feet soldier!”
Looking up at me with disbelief, I realised Barry was about ready to sound the retreat. “Now!” I pushed past and stepped up onto the plinth, squeezing my head between the lens and the porthole. Dammit! They had already arrived and were taking their seats. I flipped the main light switch, and returned to the mass. First things first. Where the hell was reel Number One? Typical! Buried under everything else.
“Ok,” I said, as I started to separate the film into manageable bundles. "I think this is it.” Following a length, my assumptions were proved correct as the perforated dark green gave way to a leader of solid sky blue. The heart of it. “Here you go. Track forward and see if you can find the first splice. I’m going to enlist some help.”
“No. Don’t. No one can know.”
“Don’t be a dick,” I said. “If we had a hour, perhaps, but this is three hours worth of film we’re looking at. I’m going to find Shaz. Do you want to keep your job or not?”
Without waiting for an answer, I exited the projection booth, giving the door a slam. The staff room was too close for comfort, and Barry the Tactless had made enemies who would only be too happy to land him in the shit. Noticing the office door was closed over, I gave it a push. Locked. Thank heavens for small mercies. Halfway down the stairs, my nostrils were assaulted by the sickly sweet smell of popcorn. I raced down the rest, two stairs at a time, until I came to the door of the kiosk, and popped my head around it. “Shaz?” I shouted over the din. Nadine looked briefly up while handing over a soft drink, almost as big as the little ginger haired, pig-tailed girl, eagerly grasping for it. “Screen Number One,” she answered, looking at me quizzically.
I rushed through the loitering masses, bolted up the steps, and through the first set of double doors, my sight adjusting to the red halogen spots, readying my eyes for the darkness inside.
A few seconds of scanning, and I saw Shaz talking to an adult, who seemed to be the organiser in charge of the eight hundred strong throng of noisy, excited school children. There was much in the way of hand animation going on.
“I’m sorry, “Shaz was saying, her tone pleasant but firm. “We can’t make time for an Interval. There is another large group arriving to see the film immediately after this screening is over, and we’ll need the extra time to clean up. It is a very long film and the screen is packed.”
The woman went to protest.
“Actually,” I butted in, giving her a smile. “I’ve been checking the timetable, and I think we may be able to accommodate.”
Shaz looked to me, eye movements asking, Where did you spring from? and What’s the silly git done now? She followed my lead and promptly left.
“What in the name of good… Seriously, what the hell are we going to do?” Shaz shook her head, gasping at the mess in front of her. “There’s no way you’ll be able to work out all the twists and kinks.”
“No choice in the matter. Besides, that’s why you’re here… another pair of arms. Barry,” I said, “did you find that splice? The Interval will give us another fifteen to twenty minutes.”
“An Interval? But we don’t…”
“We do now.”
“Got it!” he said, holding the splice up so I could see.
Hunkering down, I gasped the film firmly on either side of it, and tore it apart, the tape holding the two ends together yielding under the brutal force. As luck would have it, Reel One was mostly intact, save for a few coils, which had pulled free from the supporting collar. “I’ll prep the first reel, you two find the rest of the splices.”
I headed for the old wooden workbench, it’s pitted surface standing testament to many hours of boredom, and the desire of those who’d come before to leave their impression upon it. I grabbed the splicer, and a torch and set to work. I checked the loose inner end, the torch beam illuminating the content. A frame of the ad intro, as it should be. I opened the jaws of the heavy, metal splicer and, counting back four perforations, slid the length of film inside, the mangled taped frame hanging over the edge. With a swift tap, the cutting blade bore down, and the segment fluttered to the floor like a stunned butterfly.
Now the hard part—getting the reel back on a collar. Reaching under the bench, I pulled one free, that and a drop cloth. Dust was my enemy. I fitted the wooden mount onto the winding gear, and fed the end of the film into the metal band that would keep it locked in place. The rest I dumped onto the cloth on the floor. Biggest problem—the film fed from the inside of the reel, and as I turned the handle it spiralled continuously. I wound what I could until the twists became too much, then let go of the handle, to shake loose the pile on the floor. I repeated the process over again, and over… and over…
Times had changed. Back in the day not only were films shorter, but they were fed through the projector one reel at a time. Efforts to give the patrons more choice, and maximise profits, had seen the lowly Picture Houses turn into sprawling, twelve screen Mutli-Plexes, the familiar choice for film-goers today. Did you think there was one projectionist per 35 millimetre film? Think again. One projectionist per six screens was the norm, and sometimes not even that. The pressure of the workload was heavy at times.
When films arrived, a projectionist would go about ‘making them up’ adding the advertisements, trailers and finally the reels, one by one, All ran onto a three tiered metal device known as a cake stand. The result looked like an over-sized, long playing record. The inner part of the film was threaded through a metal centre, up and across a series of smooth plastic runners, fed through the projector, and returned back to the receiving platter by yet more runners. Those annoying scrapes that made you want to complain? The result of a lazy projectionist who’d rather sit on his butt than clean them.
Adult films don’t do well in the afternoons. So, again with the intentions of maximising profits, films, by necessity, would need to be moved from one set up to another. When first I trained, the thought of it scared the living daylights out of me. A large film could be as big as the span of my arms, and heavy with it. My lithe frame, over time, had taken on the appearance of a squat power lifter, in order to cope. If there was an Olympic medal to be had, I’d have won the Light Weight Film Lifting category, hands down. Wound films look solid. They are not. As soon as you go to lift, they wobble, and only by maintaining perfect gait and posture do they stay firm. If even so much as one frame has a kink, it unsettles the pressure that holds it all together, and if you were to stumble walking the length of the booth… well, ask Barry.
The winding of Reel One nearly complete, I looked up. Both Barry and Shaz were hard at it. She stood motionless as Barry did a dance around her, untwisting the next reel and lopping the film around her outstretched arms, in much the same way one winds skeins of wool. A shriek of hinges, and the booth door opened. We all turned around expectantly. There was a collective sigh of relief as Jordie, my other Juniour, walked through the door. “What the…”
“Stop standing there gawping.” I said. “Give us a hand. What are you doing here anyway?”
“Stopped by to check the rota,” he replied, closing the door swiftly, and rolling up his sleeves. “It’s as well I did, please don’t tell me that’s…”
I nodded.
“Shit!”
“Exactly.”
“Does She Who Must Be Obeyed know?”
I laughed at the filmic reference and shook my head. “Nope, and I’d really rather it stayed that way.” Barry was an ass, but a harmless one.
“So what can I do?” Jordie said.
“Take over from me and I’ll start piecing it all together.”
By the time I had Reel One on the outgoing platter of the cake stand, Jordie handed me next. I checked the ends to be attached to make sure I wasn’t fitting the reels together in the wrong order. Relief. They matched. Having spliced the ends together, I poked two fingers into the second reels plastic spool, and hit a button, the platter lurching to life. It rapidly sped up, taking the donkey work out of the winding. I watched as it spun, the external part of the film growing outward by the second. Seven more reels to go.
Time was pressing, but with another set of arms, I figured we’d be ten minutes late at the most.
When, finally, the last reel was connected, I laced up the Ernemann, navigating the film over the runners, down through the gate the bulb shone through, past the series of cogs, across the soundhead, and finally back to the cake stand. I let out a sigh of relief. Turning round, I saw the colour had returned to Barry’s cheeks, at long last.
“Coffee?” Shaz said, flipping the switch of the kettle.
“Bloody right!” I replied, as I started up the projector and killed the lights. “Lord of the Rings had better be worth it.”
..............
Ernemann 15, No.1, in action.
Like I said... Serpentine.
My splicer.
An intact film.
And if you've ever wondered how the picture made it to the screen...
...it did it by way of a concave mirror. This was taken out of No.1 as a redundancy gift to myself, and now decorates a shelf in my bookcase.
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