Dumbo in the most classical old cinema: how to learn to fly on your own

Dumbo in the most classical old cinema: how to learn to fly on your own

April 8, 2019 From that blog I started but closed down again 

Yesterday I finally went to see Dumbo, in the new version, by Tim Burton. I did have high expectations, and so did my children. We’ve been watching the trailer on TV now for more than a month, and been awaiting the date of the premiere by literally counting the days.

What my kids don’t know, is that we are surviving on a very small amount of money, and splurging on cinema tickets is not really common sense in my situation. Long story, but to cut it short: I left a relationship with domestic violence, and the price I paid, was to lose all I had. So worth it emotionally, but practically, I am suffering.

However, this weekend, one of my dearest friends gave me a gift of money. I am not sure if he realises that this gift literally saves my month, meaning I CAN PAY MY RENT AND BUY MY SON A BIRTHDAY PRESENT. I have cried a few tears at his generosity and I have sworn to myself to help him in whatever way I can in whatever way he needs, when I am back on my feet after this upside down strange period I am in now will have passed.

It also meant that I could take my kids to see Dumbo, as promised for the past 5 weeks. It premiered already last weekend but I didn’t really tell them… because I couldn’t afford taking them.

We recently moved to another part of the island, to have a cheaper rent. I am not so happy about it, because it’s located so far from everything and makes me feel really disconnected. But, as everything with this period, I know it’s temporary. So, because of our new location, I decided that we’d go to the cinema in our closest town, to a cinema house I’ve not been to before. 

This turned out to be the best decision I have made in a long time. I am always disappointed by the cinema in Ibiza town; it’s dirty, feels so not cared for, commercial looking. It kills the magic of cinema, picture, storytelling. I am a sucker for film and I can watch certain ones 67 times as I seem to live inside them and feel them on so many levels. One of the upsides of being a highly sensitive person, I’d say! 

This cinema was probably built in the 60’s, and it seems to have retained all its original features. It was devastatingly beautiful. Red, plush seats and the curtains covering the screen were deep blood red velvet, and when they opened, another set of featherlike curtains slid across the screen with such elegance, it felt as if we were observing a ballet dancer performing, enticing us to feel even more excited about the movie to come. It felt as if someone has been looking after this cinema house with so much love and care, so much that not much has needed to be replaced in all these years, only the screen, which of course was the latest version of whatever it needs to be to screen modern film.

I sat down with my beautiful children, and our popcorn. And I cried.
I know, I know… I am overly emotional at the moment. But I am also completely starved of culture. This island is… culture-free. Sorry. Not sorry.
I feel so alive when I see art, when I walk slowly through a museum, when I gaze up at historical buildings. Here, it’s practical raw, down to earth, hedonistic, greedy. Lower chakra. I am not sure why I am here. Yes I am sure. I had a few lessons to learn about my soul. But in my future I don’t live here. I live somewhere with culture and art that feeds my soul every single day.

But this feeling of culture, of refined care for a piece of history that deals with film… it moved me so deeply.

Tim Burton is a fucking genius. This movie had it all. It had evil, it had good. It had narcissistic and psycopathic evil powers, but good won over evil.
Dumbo actually believes he needs a feather to fly. Much like I have been believing I need a man to make money, or to have value.

In the end, Dumbo HAS TO FLY without the feather in order to save himself and the heroes of the story. In the end, he returns home, to freedom.

I am Dumbo. My (false) belief is that I cannot fly unless there’s a man telling me what to do and how to do it and why and for his purpose of course. But that’s just a belief. I believe I am a slave to narcissistic powers. But that’s just a belief. I’m literally separated from my own power with a feather. Or a thin veil.

This movie touched me on so many levels. The story is sublime. This old fashioned movie house in one of the ugliest parts of tourist-infested Ibiza was such a jewel, such a gift to my soul. This gift from my dear friend Jimmi who I met in London in 2000, who continues to be one of the very dearest people in my life- I have no words, Jimmi. Literally no words. You saved my month, but not only that, you showed me what friendship really truly is. And I will pay it forward a thousand times and I will babysit your baby and I will give you my kidney.