The projectionist

HAVANA.- With the appearance of digital projectors in the capital’s main cinemas, this man fades out. And with him fades out that peculiar sound of the reel of film spinning inside a projector. Farewell to that cone of light that, from a little window high above, bursts into images on a screen.

The maker and final keeper of the magic of cinema — the projectionist — arrives in silence. He inspects the spools that hold the movie and, if any part of the material is damaged, places the reel in the old Moviola. He inserts the first reel in the large device and guides the strip over the gear. There’s always a second reel that contains the “happy end,” the “Russian ending” or the “farewell forever” — the inevitable tear or the smile on the lips.

This man does everything from memory: as he chews a cigar, he sets up the second projector so that the spectators won’t realize when the reels change, so that the movie won’t “skip.”

I have been with him during his reign at the Cine Yara, where streets meet in “the Havana corner.” In those many years, he heard many catcalls and insults from the audience when the projector’s bulb burned out, or the film broke, or the images went out of focus, or the sound failed — flaws of the analog era. Or, as they say, of the old days.

And not a single applause, as if he wasn’t also the giver of our daily film.