The Sunken Six Theater: Cinema Paradiso

It’s 10:10 P.M. Lights come on in the lobby of the Sunken Six Theater, a blend of cool white and violet. From hidden speakers high in the lobby ceiling comes the crackle of a record player, and the warm baritone of Bing Crosby singing “Deep Purple.”
 
Inside the vacant box office, whirring sounds from a ticket machine confirm that the cinematic spirits of old are coming to life. A single Bristol board ticket is issued from the machine:
Sunken Six Theater Ticket: Cinema Paradiso
Take the ticket. It’s for you.
 
The doors of Theater 3 swing wide. Inside, the plush velvet seat reserved for you is roomy and sturdy, like the backseat of a ’60s Cadillac.
 
Rattling sounds issue from the projection booth above as a Victoria 5 begins its take-up. Just as the flickering lights reach the screen, deep purple velvet curtains part. The wall-mounted sconces, with their amber-colored lights, dim.
 
The feature presentation begins. Welcome to the Sunken Six Theater.
Sunken Six Theater Seats
Advisory: The Sunken Six assumes a prior viewing of the feature. If you have not seen Groundhog Day, please return after the credits have rolled. This analysis is intended for those already familiar with the film.

Cinema Paradiso is widely regarded as a film about the magic of cinema. I see it as a film about the critical role of third places. The piazza, or town square, regulates life in Giancaldo like a projectionist managing a film screening from the booth. Its primary tool is the Cinema Paradiso theater, where the townspeople gather regularly to watch films. Alfredo is the lone projectionist. Without him, the theater would not be able to function. At one point in the film, Alfredo urges Toto to abandon his dream of becoming a projectionist. Alfredo laments how much of his life was spent alone in that projection room, toiling in the heat and cold, away from his family. He urges Toto to leave town and make a better life for himself, suggesting that his own life was a waste.


Toto ultimately follows Alfredo’s instructions, but was it the right choice? I would argue no. Alfredo was burned out, but his work was essential to the town’s proper functioning. This is evident in the character of the town crier, who traverses the square day and night telling people, “La piazza è mia!” or “The square is mine.” The town crier’s role in the community goes through three major transitions, which we will examine here.


When Toto is a child, we see the town crier shooing the townspeople out of the square after a late-night movie showing at the Cinema Paradiso. The crier runs up on people, demanding that they vacate the square by 11 P.M. It’s clear from the reaction of the townspeople, who laugh and play along with his irrational demands, that the town crier is an accepted member of the community. Any one of the men could have taken a swing at the man, and justifiably so, for rushing up on them in a threatening manner. Instead, everyone complies with his demands, like a roomful of adults taking direction from a child. In a healthy community, there is room for eccentrics because communal bonds foster social tolerance. People are willing to participate in the performance because they belong to a community, one that is held together by effective third places, such as the theater.


After the fire, Toto replaces Alfredo as the projectionist at the Nuevo Cinema Paradiso. On the surface, the town of Giancaldo continues functioning as it did before: The theater is rebuilt, Toto takes over as projectionist, and the seats fill once again with moviegoers. But something is different. Though nobody can identify it, something significant was lost when the theater burned down. It will take a long time before the full effect of the theater loss is registered.


The opening of the Nuevo Cinema Paradiso marks a significant turning point in the town of Giancaldo. It represents the end of an era—the beginning of a time when individuality takes priority over community. We see the effects in the piazza, where the people march hurriedly about. The town crier darts here and there among them, shouting, as before, that the square belongs to him. This time, however, nobody plays along. The people continue on their way without giving him a second thought. They are indifferent to the crier’s claims and unwilling to participate in the performance—they have no time for this. The piazza has transitioned from a square to a thoroughfare.


When Toto returns to Giancaldo to attend Alfredo’s funeral, the theater is days away from demolition. Toto gets permission to walk through it one last time. He finds the stone lion head, whose open mouth served as a porthole for the projector light, lying on the floor. The stone lion head is both a physical and symbolic aperture. Physically, it was the opening where the projector light for every film shown at the theater exited the projection booth and lit the screen. Symbolically, it was the unifying force that brought the townspeople together for entertainment on a regular basis.


The fallen lion marks the end of not only the theater but the strong communal bonds that once united Giancaldo. Shortly afterwards, the theater is brought down with explosives. A teen on a dirtbike does donuts in the rubble, inspiring laughter from a crowd of teens. The town crier walks behind them, whispering, “La piazza è mia!” repeatedly, before slipping away unnoticed into a gridlock of parked cars. The once lively plaza is now reduced to a parking lot.


By this time, some thirty years after Toto left Giancaldo to pursue his dream of becoming a movie director in Rome, the town crier is no longer a recognized member of the community. When Toto was a boy, the town crier, though an eccentric, was embraced by the townspeople. Now, he is invisible. The theater, from its original state to the Nuevo Cinema Paradiso to a demolition site, mirrors the changes in the townspeople’s view of the town crier, who went from an accepted community member to an annoyance to a ghost.


By the film’s end, we’re left in an uncomfortable position. Alfredo and Toto, two of the more lovable characters in film history, suddenly appear like antiheroes. By insisting that Toto leave Giancaldo, Alfredo robs the town of the one leader who may have been able to hold it together. Alfredo sold himself and his profession short by not recognizing what a key role his work played in the community. Blinded by his desire for Toto to experience the freedom he never had in the isolating confines of the projection booth, Alfredo dooms Toto to a life of individualistic pursuits. For his life of freedom in Rome, his hometown of Giancaldo pays the price. Had both Alfredo and Toto recognized the good they were doing through their simple work, things may have turned out much differently.


Instead, Toto walked away from Giancaldo like a lion abandoning its pride. The tire marks of the dirtbike on the resting ground of the theater hit Toto particularly hard, as if he finally realizes that he and Alfredo were accomplices in the town’s death. Ironically, the true hero of the story is the town crier—the one person who saw the value in the town square from start to finish. The film ends with an apparent victory lap for Toto as he sits alone in a high-end screening room in Rome, watching the highlight reel of deleted scenes that Alfredo made for him as a gift. It’s essentially a metaphor for the successful, freedom-loving life that Toto found in Rome. In the light of Giancaldo, however, Alfredo’s parting gift is a tragedy. Instead of a lion leading his pride, Toto abandoned his hometown to become a big-game hunter seeking trophies.
 
Toto secured his gold statues, but Giancaldo paid for them with the tire marks of a dirtbike.

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