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While growing up in my little village in Nigeria, there were a few means of entertainment. In our whole village there was no single TV in any home. The topical film theater in the town was the only place grown up adults go to see the motion pictures. Every weekend, my older brother would work the trip into the town and return with really colorful descriptions of the latest films.
Sitting round the kitchen table, he would narrate the movies in pure detail. He told of crowds bursting into laughter or gasping in suspense all at the same time. The characters on screen seemed so gigantic compared to real life. My imagination ran very wild picturing these very magical worlds. All I wanted was to see for myself what drew people to the cinema in droves.
For weeks, I dedicated effort to household chores in hopes of earning enough money for a ticket. Loose change was collected and carefully stored, with the theater always in the back of my mind. Each new coin felt one step closer to my cinema debut. What films might be screening by the time I got there? Would the experience live up to my dream expectations?
The anticipated day finally came when I had a whole NGN 20 to my name. Clutching the bills tightly, nervousness tucked it in my pants, I set off alone down the familiar busy street. Passing shops seemed to fly by in my too unrestrained gaze. Not so long than I started, the cinema marquee's glow out from afar.
Arriving at the illuminated entrance was super short of awe-inspiring for a small-town kid like myself. Towering posters publicized an array of titles and stars both familiar and foreign. Vibrant colors and flashy artwork teased mysteries from within those hallowed halls. I hurried inside with a pounding heart.
The busy hall filled with all senses. Voices of people, young and old filled every corner, discussing films and catching up on lives. Weaving through the so bustling crowd really tested my small stature. After what matt-up like eternity navigating through the push, my pay back arrived - a seat sat waiting at the very front row.
Dimming lights conveyed an immediate quietness over the wax house. As the hall light deemed into moments of pitch blackness, anticipation reached its peak. What wonder would shortly dazzle my eyes on that silver screen? The projector whir to life provided an answer, as possibility credits began a medium never seen before.
From start to finish, Jackie Chan's "Drunken Master" knocked me over with awe. His fluid movements with breathless acrobatics and pitch-perfect comedic timing left my jaw wall hanging. Each risky stunt pulled off with grace ignited thunderous hand clapping I gladly joined in on the clapping. Watching this master piece of work with a lively crowd elevated the experience.
That landmark Night sparked a lifelong love of both Jackie Chan and the art of film. Retracing well-worn VHS tapes of "Drunken Master" and others of his collections provided infinite amusement. Moving into adulthood, new discoveries of his less recognised early on work deepened my appreciation. Now, passing that enthusiasm onto my very young kids brings full-circle joy.
Revisiting those classic titles decades later provides an indescribable race of nostalgia. Seeing opened wonder replace mine in the faces of children ignites too warm memories. Cinema's power to work multigenerational groups together through storytelling and spectacle profoundly impactful. All these age later, Jackie Chan and that early theater trip shaped my love for martial arts movies.
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