The cinema room was still almost empty when I found my seat in the back row. It turned out that there was already a woman sitting there, but she immediately made room by choosing a seat a little further away. While we were waiting, a conversation arose between us that you rarely have with strangers in the cinema.
She seemed to me to be a woman in her late sixties and she seemed calm, friendly. She spoke with a soft g and turned out to be from the south of the country. She still lived there, but every year she spent one full week in Amsterdam to attend the IDFA documentary festival every day.
She had been doing that for twenty years now. She moved into an apartment in the center and attended as many performances as possible, sometimes three a day. Always alone, I wondered, but I kept that impertinent question to myself. In between she also went to a ‘normal cinema’, like that afternoon, because she saw the Iranian feature film My Favourite Cake wanted to see after all the enthusiastic reviews she had read about it.
In short, a film buff.
What kind of feature films did she prefer to see? “No more American films,” she said, “I’m especially tired of those blockbusters. I like beautiful, small films.” I asked her about her favorite movie, because tell me which book or movie you love most and I will tell you who you are, or better yet: who I think you are. She knew immediately: Who by Ken Loach, the British film director, known for his social realist style. “I like his films very much,” she said. “And your favorite movie?” „A Woman Under The Influence”, I replied without hesitation, “a film about an overstressed woman who is not understood by the people around her.” Yes, John Cassavetes,” she said, “with Gena Rowlands.”
In short, film lovers among themselves, although I must admit that I had to look up where later at home who, a film from 1969, also about: a lonely working-class boy who tries to escape from his misery by training a young kestrel.
Then we had to be silent because ‘our’ film started, or at least the awkward, introductory bombardment through advertising and trailers of films that, thank God, you never have to see. There is no better anti-advertisement than the trailer.
My Favourite Cake is an Iranian feature film, made by the director couple Maryam Moghadam and Behtash Sanaeeha, who courageously fought the censorship. The film has been banned in Iran, and prosecution of the makers is threatened for propaganda against the regime and violating Islamic rules.
Their film is about a lonely 70-year-old woman who hopes to find love with an elderly taxi driver. She became a widow at the age of thirty, it was exchanged by his wife for a richer copy. Things seem to work out between them for a while. Seems. A moving film with beautiful performances by the leading actors. “The film is about life, but also about transience,” Moghadem said NRC against Dana Linssen. “It is an encouragement to live now and not wait until the hereafter.”
We stood up, the woman and I. “A nice little film,” we said to each other. At the exit we politely said goodbye, because life is usually not a movie.
Share Email the editor
Cinematic Encounters: A Not-So-Average Day at the Movies
Ah, the cinema. That gloriously dark room where we sit in isolation, yet exist in a collective sense of communion. But let’s be honest: when I found my seat in the back row, this was a space for **introspection**, not conversation! I mean, who wants chit-chat before a film? I’d rather debate the complexities of the plot twist in The Sixth Sense with my popcorn than converse with strangers. But to my surprise, a friendly woman, let’s say about sixty-eight and a half, was already ensconced there. With all the subtlety of a poorly-timed ringtone, she made room for me – an act that screamed, “Please, let’s not get to know each other.”
And yet, as the dark descended, something extraordinary happened. There I was, conversing with a delightful soul who seemed to embody everything we love to stereotype about individuals from the countryside. She spoke with that soft, calmed ‘g’ sound unique to the south like honey dripping from a spoon. One could almost hear nature whispering, “She’s not in a hurry.”
So, she travels annually to the IDFA documentary festival in Amsterdam. Twenty years and counting! I mean, that’s commitment! The last time I committed to something for twenty years, it was my gym membership—still waiting for a return on that investment. But this woman? She stayed in the center of the city, indulging herself in a world of thought-provoking documentaries three times a day. And I can only assume that by ‘three times a day,’ she’s not including the existential crises in between!
I curiously asked her what feature films tickled her fancy these days. “No more American films.” Ah, the battle cry of the cultured! I wanted to applaud, but my hands were busy clutching a half-eaten box of M&Ms. “I like beautiful, small films.” This lady is a poet disguised as a cinephile! No one likes to admit it, but sometimes the tiny movies hold larger reflections of our lives than any blockbuster ever could. I asked her about her favorite, and almost like a sitcom setup, she serenely replied, Who by Ken Loach. Bravo! Or as the French would say, “Bien joué!” But naturally, I couldn’t resist throwing my favorite into the verbal mix, “A Woman Under The Influence.” The sheer intensity of Gena Rowlands might as well be a masterclass in ‘how to show your stress levels responsibly.’
Ladies and gentlemen, we had a bond, forged in the fires of cinematic treasure! Each recommending our most poignant films, sharing a level of respect usually reserved for your favorite pizza topping. However, my research instincts kicked in later that evening, and I had to Google Who—because what’s more embarrassing than getting schooled in film by a sweet woman basking in her love for independent cinema?
The film started, and we collectively held our breath through the onslaught of trailers, the cinematic equivalent of “You’ll regret eating that cake by the end of the night!” Honestly, who knew that the best anti-advertisement for a movie was another movie entirely? You know, a little ‘trailer shame’ before you dive into the film you actually wanted to see.
And what was this miraculous film we were about to experience? My Favourite Cake. This cinematic morsel not only created a buzz in the festival circuit but faced the outright wrath of censorship in Iran! Talk about a film with some serious guts! Imagine making a film and getting charged with a crime for simply speaking about love and loss. The premise? A seventy-year-old widow trying to find joy with an elderly taxi driver. Ah, the charm of aging romances—they really do give us hope, or at least, something far sweeter than we can find in a box of chocolates!
The movie, despite exploring the somber themes of life and impermanence, was supposedly a wisdom-filled nudge towards living your life now rather than waiting. I mean, who needs another motivational poster on the wall when you have a movie gently convincing you to get out there and embrace life?
We stood at the exit, a fleeting moment of connection, and uttered, “A nice little film.” And just like that, we both realized that life is rarely scripted like the movies. No dramatic farewell; just two strangers acknowledging that they shared a moment. Perhaps that’s the beauty of film—it’s not just about what’s on the screen, but the conversations and connections forged in the accompanying darkness of the cinema.
As I settled into my seat at the back of the nearly empty cinema room, I realized that a woman had already claimed that spot. However, she graciously opted for a different seat a bit further away, paving the way for an uncharacteristically open conversation between us—something seldom experienced with strangers in the hushed atmosphere of a movie theater.
She appeared to be in her late sixties, exuding a sense of calmness and warmth. Her gentle Southern drawl hinted at her origin from the warmer climates of the country. Despite still residing there, she dedicated an entire week each year to immerse herself in the vibrant atmosphere of Amsterdam during the renowned IDFA documentary festival, diligently attending showings each day.
This was a tradition she had faithfully upheld for two decades, renting an apartment in the city center to maximize her exposure to as many screenings as her schedule would allow—often managing to fit in three performances in a single day. I found myself wondering if she ventured to the cinema alone each time, though I refrained from voicing that intrusive thought. She occasionally indulged in a more mainstream movie, like the Iranian feature film My Favourite Cake, drawn to it by the enthusiastic reviews echoing in her mind.
In short, she was truly a cinema aficionado.
Curious about her cinematic preferences, I asked which types of feature films she favored. “No more American films,” she replied with conviction. “I’m especially tired of those blockbusters. I like beautiful, small films.” When I inquired about her all-time favorite movie, I was met with an immediate response, echoing the age-old belief that one’s favorite book or film reveals their true self. Without hesitation, she declared her admiration for Who by Ken Loach, the acclaimed British director celebrated for his poignant social realism. “I enjoy his films immensely,” she elaborated. “And what about you? What’s your favorite?” I answered without missing a beat, saying, A Woman Under The Influence, a profound tale about a stressed woman who feels misunderstood by those around her. “Ah, John Cassavetes,” she confirmed, recalling the film and its leading lady, Gena Rowlands.
In a nutshell, we were two film enthusiasts passionately connecting over our shared love of cinema, although I must admit I had to later look up who, a 1969 film centered on a lonely working-class boy seeking escape through the companionship of a young kestrel.
As the lights dimmed, we fell into silence, signaling the start of ‘our’ film—at least the awkward prelude featuring a relentless barrage of advertisements and trailers for films that, thankfully, we’d never feel compelled to watch. Truly, the trailer serves as an impeccable anti-advertisement.
My Favourite Cake is a striking Iranian film brought to life by directors Maryam Moghadam and Behtash Sanaeeha, who have bravely stood against censorship in their home country. The film currently faces a ban in Iran, with its creators under threat of legal action for alleged propaganda against the regime and violations of Islamic law.
This poignant narrative explores the life of a lonely, 70-year-old widow yearning for love from an elderly taxi driver. After enduring the heartbreak of losing her husband at thirty when he left her for a wealthier partner, she finally feels a glimmer of hope. However, this hope proves fleeting and unstable. Described as a moving experience featuring extraordinary performances from its lead actors, Moghadam poignantly shared with NRC that “The film is about life and the inevitability of transience. It serves as a reminder to live authentically in the present and not to wait for what comes next.”
After the credits rolled, the woman and I stood up together, exchanging smiles as we remarked, “A nice little film,” to one another. As we reached the exit, we offered polite farewells, a quiet acknowledgment that life, unlike the films, often unfolds in bittersweet reality.
