During my childhood in our quaint little town, the first movie house, Illusion Theater, opened in the early 1950s. Its facade was brightened by neon lights, the first ever in our place. On opening night, people from all over the province trooped to our town to watch the lights show and the inaugural movie, Siete Infantes de Lara, directed by Manuel Conde. We had three families cramped in our living room and kitchen floor that stayed with us that weekend to watch the dancing lights and the showing of the first commercial movie in our town.
Some actors in the film travelled from Manila and made personal appearances at the theater’s lobby to greet their fans. No doubt, it was the biggest event of the year for us. At that time, moviegoers could stay inside the theater for as long as they wanted, and enter the movie house at anytime. There was intermission time of 15 minutes to allow the audience to answer the call of nature and buy snacks from the only shop operating inside, whose concessionaire was our neighbor and my baptismal godmother. On Saturdays and Sundays when I had no classes, I would get free pass to the theater by helping my ninang carry her wares and bring them inside the movie house before the first showing. I would watch the film for free and did my small business every intermission time. With an empty sack, I would walk between the rows of seats to collect the empty Coca-Cola bottles and redeem their deposits of 3 cents, which many customers did not bother to collect. During SRO showings, I could earn P4, which was the equivalent of the minimum wage at that time. Aside from entertainment, the theater provided means of livelihood to our enterprising townsfolk. Outside the theater, several vendors sell peanuts, ice cream, boiled banana and corn. The theater building had commercial stalls that sold various items. The theater also served as the social and cultural center, which hosted significant events like vaudeville, zarzuelas, and stage shows featuring prominent stage players, actors, singers and famous personalities.
As part of its advertisement and promotion, Illusion set up its sound system so that the public outside could clearly hear the dialogues of the characters in the movie. Normally, on Friday evenings, a huge crowd would gather in front. It was the age before television and one could “watch” the movie by following the sound track. I could still hear Efren Reyes cross swords with Johnny Montero in the thriller Espadang Umaangil, and the crowd outside would jump excitedly when they hear Reyes’ horse neighing as the lead character rescued the oppressed villagers. To announce the showing of a new movie, heavily made-up players, wearing the costumes of the characters they portrayed, would parade around town led by a band. They would stop at a junction and do some reenactment of their roles to the great delight of the townspeople. I would follow them around and rush home to tell my parents of the great scenes I saw.
As I look back and reminisce, Illusion Theater was the only game in town in our community. Its only competition was the free movies at the town plaza sponsored by famous consumer brands like Zamba, Purico, Colgate and Cortal. But these free movies seldom came and generally took place only during town fiestas and holidays, and you have to bring your own stool. Illusion provided entertainment and means of livelihood to the townspeople. As people gather outside, they exchange views, news and information, as there was no local or national paper in circulation, and no local radio station at that time.
My life revolved around the theater. I could watch movies for free and make money on the side for my baon to school and for other school expenses. I became an authority on movies, which was a cause of envy among my barkadas. I could mesmerize them with the dialogues of the Lo’ Waist Gang characters and the tragic ending of the Gabi ng Lagim victims.
But good old days do not last forever. In the summer of 1963, a big fire razed our town, gutting down the entire commercial block where the movie house stood. The once crowded and busy section of our town was reduced to ashes and debris. There was total darkness in the area where the dazzling lights used to attract crowds. The commercial stalls were gone, and the throng of people that frequented the place had vanished. It was the bleakest summer of my youth.
The demise of an institution is the worst kind of death. The loss of Illusion Theater erased the fond and happy memories of my youth. Although new and bigger movie houses followed, I had outgrown my fascination for movies. And as far as I’m concerned, there was only one movie house—Illusion Theater. Every time I go home for a visit, I could still see its grandeur and its dancing lights. I think it was Lincolm who once said that we should preserve our institutions, which have made us the freest, the most intelligent, and the happiest people on the globe.
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I thought I was watching “PO3 Ricardo Dalisay” of the top-rated Ang Probinsyano when the actor who plays his character has said: “Kung lahat tayo mananahimik, aabusuhin tayo n’yan.” He must have been inspired by the late Ed Murrow, the dean of American broadcast journalism, who said, “A nation of sheep will beget a government of wolves.”