Read Online The Man In The Seventh Row by Brian Pendreigh - Free Book Online
Authors: Brian Pendreigh
Tags: Novels
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except him, and he wondered whether they would still have run the film if he had not turned up.
At some cinemas the slightest rustle of sweetie papers met with angry shushing noises. The audience is unique at the Dominion, in Edinburgh's Morningside area, staple for generations of local comics since the original anonymous observation about fur coats and no knickers. Children at the Dominion behave perfectly. There was hardly a whisper when Roger Moore's speedboat leapt from the bayou, flew across dry land, and dropped back into the water on the other side in Live and Let Die .
But the pensioners? They chatter away throughout the programme like sports commentators.
'Oh look the boat is flying through the air,' says one senile delinquent at the top of her voice.
'Well I never,' says another.
'I think he'll get away now,' says a third.
'Of course he'll get away', says Roy. 'He always gets away. He's James Bond. It's a film. It's in the script that he gets away. It's not real'
And they all turn and glare at him like the children in Village of the Damned .
'Sh-sh-sh ...'
It was the one local neighbourhood cinema in Edinburgh that survived beyond the great cinema depression of the Seventies and early Eighties. It became first a twin cinema, with real domestic armchairs in Cinema 1 and a screen that was far too small. Eventually they turned a broom cupboard into Cinema 3 and Gregory's Girl ran there for a record 63 years or something like that. Gregory's Girl was one of the first British films to utilise a new technique devised by Bill Forsyth called Wimporama in which the heroes were all wimps. America gave the world John Wayne and Scotland responded with Gordon John Sinclair, a man so stupid he could not remember to put his three names in the same order from one film to the next. For once it was not Halliwell's that got it wrong but the boy himself.
When he was sixteen Roy took Alison Westwood to see Magnum Force , the second Dirty Harry film, at the Dominion. He paid for both their tickets and she kept wanting to kiss him. It was not her money, nothing to her if she missed the film, but he wanted to see it. He kept having to push her off.
'I'm trying to watch the fucking film,' he said finally.
'Sh-sh-sh-sh-sh,' said the Grandparents of the Damned.
Alison walked out and Roy never saw her again, but at least he could watch the film in peace and he had a lasting relationship with Clint Eastwood.
He was far too young to get in to see The Good, the Bad and the Ugly when it came out, but he and his friends would play at being The Good, the Bad and the Ugly , a variation on the standard cowboy shoot-out which, for reasons Roy never understood until many years later when he saw the film, could only be played in the local cemetery. Bob always got to be Clint Eastwood because he was oldest and, as he pointed out, he was the only one who could whistle the tune and they needed a soundtrack. Roy was never sure whether it was better to be the bad or the ugly.
'Do ye know who's Scotland's answer to The Good, the Bad and the Ugly ?' asked Fat Bob.
Roy shook his head.
'Jock Stein, Colin Stein and Frankenstein,' said Fat Bob, rocking with laughter at his own wit. Roy pointed out that Frankenstein was not Scottish. Bob stopped laughing, stared at Roy in disbelief and turned and walked away. Bob could be like that sometimes.
Roy first saw Clint Eastwood in Paint Your Wagon at the Playhouse in North Berwick. It did not show him to best advantage. Not only did he sing in it, but he sang to trees in a clear tenor (or maybe just baritone and no more), while Lee Marvin was declaring a manly wanderlust in a voice that sounded as if he were gargling with gravel. But these are Roy's thoughts now. At the time he loved them both equally and found it easier to imitate Clint Eastwood's singing to the trees. When he tried to sing like Lee Marvin he ended up with a sore throat. Roy not only remembered seeing the film for the first time in North
At some cinemas the slightest rustle of sweetie papers met with angry shushing noises. The audience is unique at the Dominion, in Edinburgh's Morningside area, staple for generations of local comics since the original anonymous observation about fur coats and no knickers. Children at the Dominion behave perfectly. There was hardly a whisper when Roger Moore's speedboat leapt from the bayou, flew across dry land, and dropped back into the water on the other side in Live and Let Die .
But the pensioners? They chatter away throughout the programme like sports commentators.
'Oh look the boat is flying through the air,' says one senile delinquent at the top of her voice.
'Well I never,' says another.
'I think he'll get away now,' says a third.
'Of course he'll get away', says Roy. 'He always gets away. He's James Bond. It's a film. It's in the script that he gets away. It's not real'
And they all turn and glare at him like the children in Village of the Damned .
'Sh-sh-sh ...'
It was the one local neighbourhood cinema in Edinburgh that survived beyond the great cinema depression of the Seventies and early Eighties. It became first a twin cinema, with real domestic armchairs in Cinema 1 and a screen that was far too small. Eventually they turned a broom cupboard into Cinema 3 and Gregory's Girl ran there for a record 63 years or something like that. Gregory's Girl was one of the first British films to utilise a new technique devised by Bill Forsyth called Wimporama in which the heroes were all wimps. America gave the world John Wayne and Scotland responded with Gordon John Sinclair, a man so stupid he could not remember to put his three names in the same order from one film to the next. For once it was not Halliwell's that got it wrong but the boy himself.
When he was sixteen Roy took Alison Westwood to see Magnum Force , the second Dirty Harry film, at the Dominion. He paid for both their tickets and she kept wanting to kiss him. It was not her money, nothing to her if she missed the film, but he wanted to see it. He kept having to push her off.
'I'm trying to watch the fucking film,' he said finally.
'Sh-sh-sh-sh-sh,' said the Grandparents of the Damned.
Alison walked out and Roy never saw her again, but at least he could watch the film in peace and he had a lasting relationship with Clint Eastwood.
He was far too young to get in to see The Good, the Bad and the Ugly when it came out, but he and his friends would play at being The Good, the Bad and the Ugly , a variation on the standard cowboy shoot-out which, for reasons Roy never understood until many years later when he saw the film, could only be played in the local cemetery. Bob always got to be Clint Eastwood because he was oldest and, as he pointed out, he was the only one who could whistle the tune and they needed a soundtrack. Roy was never sure whether it was better to be the bad or the ugly.
'Do ye know who's Scotland's answer to The Good, the Bad and the Ugly ?' asked Fat Bob.
Roy shook his head.
'Jock Stein, Colin Stein and Frankenstein,' said Fat Bob, rocking with laughter at his own wit. Roy pointed out that Frankenstein was not Scottish. Bob stopped laughing, stared at Roy in disbelief and turned and walked away. Bob could be like that sometimes.
Roy first saw Clint Eastwood in Paint Your Wagon at the Playhouse in North Berwick. It did not show him to best advantage. Not only did he sing in it, but he sang to trees in a clear tenor (or maybe just baritone and no more), while Lee Marvin was declaring a manly wanderlust in a voice that sounded as if he were gargling with gravel. But these are Roy's thoughts now. At the time he loved them both equally and found it easier to imitate Clint Eastwood's singing to the trees. When he tried to sing like Lee Marvin he ended up with a sore throat. Roy not only remembered seeing the film for the first time in North
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