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Through

the

Porthole

Peter Ricketts continues his account
of growing-up in and around the
Fairfield theatre.

Chapter 3
Into the Projection Room.

Why did I spend so much of my sound was reproduced and canvas duffle bag, the diameter of
time at the theatre with my demonstrated that the sound would stop which was about 14 inches and 36
grandfather? Like many men with when he waved a piece of paper in inches high. On the side it has in large
families my father was in the army and front of the sound optics. What I saw faded lettering the word Rivoli. My
women were filling the vacant jobs. At that day was indelibly imprinted in my grandfather had worked for McLeish
that time my mother was working for memory, and I can still feel the theatres in Camberwell prior to the
the local butcher only two doors from excitement of those impressions. Fairfield, so that film transport bag was
the theatre. The projection room was contrast probably for the original Rivoli. It
One Saturday matinee a semi-horror and contradiction. It was almost black would have come from my uncle, Bert
film was screening. Perhaps it was inside yet in there was the brightest, Davies who shuttled films at the time
Abbot and Costello Meet Frankenstein. whitest light I had ever seen. Noise on his motorbike.
Frightened, I ran out into the foyer from motors, grinding gears, chattering As all theatre staff do, we used to
looking for my grandfather. As always, film, scraping spools, humming find all sorts of things during the clean
he was concerned, and told me not to transformers, spluttering carbons, and a up. The items were kept at the theatre
worry, that it was not real. “Come and I tinny sound was one part of it, another for a few weeks so they could be
will show you what I mean.” was the heat from glowing valves and reclaimed, then either donated to a
He took me to a one of the large hot oil, and the smell of oil and film charity, thrown out, or taken home.
poster boards on the back wall of the cement (acetone), the latter the one In our kitchen in Austin Street,
foyer, and for all the time I had spent smell familiar to me from my mother's Fairfield, we had a pantry cupboard. In
there, I did not realize that it was also a nail polish remover. the bottom of this was a large bucket
door. We entered a dark, noisy room. The walls were covered with full of unclaimed keys. For hours I
He said “Do not touch anything” conduits going in all directions. There would spread them all over the floor
and lifting me up I saw for the first were record players and pendant lights and sort them in colors or shapes, or
time the picture from the other side of with tubular shades, switched on via link them together on key rings or
the port-hole, as the projectionist sees pull cords. All this in a dim, fire-proof, string. Not all were Yale type; many
it. Grandfather proceeded to show me poorly ventilated room with minimum were the large keys about six inches
the projectors and film, explaining space to move between machines. long.
what did what. He told the This room or Bio-Box was in such Other items often found were
projectionist, Alf Stewart that I was contrast to its reason for being. The umbrellas, handkerchiefs, hats, coats,
frightened and they seemed to think “Auditorium,” cavernous in size, high, sweaters, glasses, cigarette lighters,
that it was a bit of a joke. Alf gave me a wide, and long; deadly quiet when it cigarette cases, buttons, fountain pens,
piece of film. It was about two feet was supposed to be; roaring with noise, rings, brooches, combs, and watches. It
long and became my prized possession speech, music and special effects on seems that many people walked to the
for years. I stuck it to my bedroom cue when the sound track demanded. A theatre, removed their overcoats and
window. huge, virtual window at one end could laid them across their knees during the
Alf demonstrated how the sprocket open on to all the wonders of the world, program; I assume that this was how
holes fitted over the teeth of the while at the other end were a series of these items fell to the floor.
projector sprockets and that this was tiny port-holes, the insignificant link I became an avid collector, a habit
how film is transported through the between the auditorium and the continued to this day. I would collect
projector. He pointed out how each projection room, where the frames of film from the projection
frame, although it looks the same, is projectionist and his assistant made it room rubbish bin, usually the end
slightly different and this was the way all happen. These people were my frames of trailers; mostly black and
motion is created. He also showed me heroes; they were performing magic. white but the ones I valued the most
the sound track and explained how At home recently I came across a were the colored ones. These also

30 2005 CINEMARECORD