Bernie at the Movies
Bernie rubbed his sweaty palms on his pant legs as he rushed down the aisle to the front of his movie theater. “Good evening,” he said, his high voice quavering. At thirty, he was bald and pudgy as a toddler. “Tonight’s film Amelie is truly something special, an exceptional example of the French filmmakers’ mastery of magical realism.” Bernie would dream of making love to Audrey Tautou tonight.
At a table of misfits, Bernie was the odd one. But he wasn’t lonely. As a boy, he’d found his cohort of bigger-than-life friends in the movies. He recycled bottles, delivered newspapers, and mowed lawns to earn money for matinee tickets. He founded fan clubs in his teens for minor film actors who played the funny sidekicks, the less attractive best friend who never got the girl or the guy killed in the film’s first fifteen minutes. Frequently, he was the sole member.
“In this classic film, the main character, Amelie, is a seemingly naive young woman who manipulates the people around her to create the world she wants to live in,” said Bernie, pulling his handkerchief from his pocket to catch a bead of sweat before it dripped down his forehead.
When the last movie theater in his area closed, Bernie took his savings and leased the abandoned theater in downtown Scranton. He refurbished the threadbare seats, mitigated the rodent infestation, and restored the ornate ceiling and proscenium, doing most of the work himself.
His tastes were eclectic. Bernie loved Capra, Truffaut, and Almodóvar but felt Ingmar Bergman was pretentious. There was never a big crowd, but he developed a faithful clientele. Bernie needed a grocery store job to guarantee rent most months.
He was a self-taught movie polymath who knew every moviemaker was influenced by the films they’d seen. It was an essential service to provide his customers context with a brief history before showing each film.
“The subtitles don’t give the dialog in Amelie its due. I urge you to leave now, go home, and study French so you can truly experience the genius of this film.”
Bernie smiled and ran up the aisle, dodging popcorn and Starbursts tossed at him from his grateful audience.
“Hilarious, Bernie. Turn on the projector,“ they shouted as he reached the door and burst into the quiet lobby.
“Feisty group tonight,” said Bernie to the concessions girl.
“Your bag of popcorn?”
He accepted it and climbed up to the projection booth where he was at home, peering at the screen through the tiny opening. After catching his breath, he turned on the projector. His broad face flickered in the light like an apparition.
Bernie visualized himself in every film, sometimes with a small speaking part, in a crowd, a set piece, or occasionally in a love scene. Like Alfred Hitchcock, he imagined himself with a small but significant ‘cameo’ in each film. Seeing his imaginary self for a few seconds every night glowing from a twenty-foot-high screen never got old. After his parents died, he sold their house and set up a little apartment on the upper level of the theater so he could watch movies anytime.
Bernie read Audrey Tautou was coming to America to publicize her new film. He jumped on the next bus to New York, rushed to the theater, and stood across the street in the rain to wait for her. Later, when he could no longer feel his toes, she appeared like a vision in white, alighting from a limousine. Drawn by invisible forces, he stepped off the curb.
Bernie woke in the hospital with a bandaged head and a broken arm.
“A messenger left this envelope for you,” the nurse said when she came to check his vitals.
Bernie opened it and read: ‘My publicist told me you were in an accident while on your way to my film premiere. I am so sorry you were hurt and missed the performance. Please accept my sympathy and these tickets to see the film after you recover. My fans are my true family, and when one is hurt, I hurt too. Love, Audrey.’
Bernie caressed the note, picturing Audrey writing it.
One night, many years later, Bernie’s heart gave out. The concessions girl found him the next afternoon in the projection booth, a half-eaten bag of popcorn in his lap, and a smile on his face. Audrey’s note was in his wallet, worn from much reading. The film canister confirmed Bernie’s last movie was Amelie. Some were sad Bernie died alone, but his regulars knew differently. He was with the woman of his dreams.
