It has been a year since I first went to the cinema in Lahore. Even after going to the cinema in India, I wasn’t really sure what to expect at a cinema in the Islamic Republic of Pakistan. After all, it had only been a couple of years since the ban on Indian movies was lifted, and censorship still exists in Pakistan for many Western movies deemed to be “vulgar” (yeah, that’s the word they use).
It was a spur of the moment decision – my friends and I were riding around the city on a motorbike late one summer night when ready-for-anything Moazam suggested seeing a movie. Aehsun and I, both of us free from work the following day, and recognising the chance to escape into an air-conditioned room for a couple of hours, agreed almost instantly. Aehsun swung the bike around and began riding towards Fortress Stadium, a large entertainment complex which houses, you guessed it, a stadium. Around the edges of the stadium are built several shopping plazas, an amusement park and the Sozo cinema complex. Sozo was once Lahore’s best option for a night at the movies, but it has long since been superseded by premium multiplexes in other suburbs.
We bought the tickets to the first film available – Fast and Furious, the sixth (or was that seventh?) instalment of a brainless Hollywood franchise – perfect for a bit of social observation on my part! After the obligatory security check (in Pakistan you get frisked when entering pretty much anywhere) we headed for the candy bar and loaded up on soft drinks and caramel popcorn. The candy bar also hosted a Hollywood-themed lounge which was used as a holding room – the audience sat around munching on their snacks and drinks while waiting for the doors to open. The walls were plastered with posters of great movies past; Dilwale Dulhania La Jayenge, Devdas, Lord of the Rings, The Shawshank Redemption. Beneath each poster was a memorable quote from that movie, a veritable greatest hits of the past twenty years of Bollywood and Hollywood.
After about ten minutes the doors were flung open, and two separate queues formed; one for men, and one for ladies and families. After ascending a dimly-lit spiral staircase we were greeted by an usher who directed us upstairs to the men’s section. The cinema was huge; a massive hall, two levels and a gigantic screen. I was told that a second, smaller theatre exists in the same complex. The second spiral staircase brought us to another usher who directed us down to the front of the balcony; we had almost front row seats! It was also a great place for me to sit and observe the goings-on downstairs too. Groups of posh young women took their places, and a couple of families also sidled in to their seats, while the upstairs section was packed with groups of young men, some quieter groups of serious-looking friends, one or two couples trying their best not to be noticed, and the odd family who must have requested a seat at the back of the hall.
The lights hadn’t even switched off when Pakistan’s national anthem came blaring out of the cinema’s speakers. Just a moment into the tune the lights flicked off and the screen came to life with a grainy image of an animated Pakistani flag being raised. Taken by surprise, the anthem was already a couple of bars through before the audience stood up and began to sing along. Interestingly, through my many subsequent visits to cinemas in Pakistan, I have only seen the national anthem played preface a film one other time, so I’m assuming that it’s the exception rather than the rule. With the anthem out of the way we took our seats and the film began – just like that! No advertisements, nothing!
As the film dragged on, the audience whooped and cheered for the good guys, tutted for the bad guys, and a couple of excitable young men whistled and hooted whenever a romantic scene took place. Pakistani society is not accustomed to public displays of affection, and unfortunately a considerable number of people (of all ages, but largely men) seem to have trouble containing their excitement when faced with notions of love or romance. The film was conspicuously mutilated by an intermission, fulfilling an expectation of South Asian audiences for which Western movies are rarely designed. Coming back from the intermission, we were finally subjected to some advertisements – an overloud Cadbury promotion which featured lots of dramatic, food porn-esque pouring of molten chocolate.
With the movie almost over, all that was left was for the hero to flirt a bit with a pretty woman on screen, and some people began to leave the cinema – namely the young men who were only there for the action, and a couple of families and young ladies concerned that they might be subjected to something obscene. The majority of patrons stayed until the end, which was only a couple of minutes later anyway. The credits began to roll, then as abruptly as the film began, it ended – the lights were flicked on, the credits switched off, and the audience erupted in conversation and began a mad rush for the exit. With crowd control in mind, we exited from a different door, and one that led us straight out into the carpark, just around the corner from the ticket office where it all began. We were greeted by the oppressive heat of summer, and decided to get on the bikes again and head to the old town for channa dal at 2am!
Published in association with CinemaStories.org
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