A young man enters alone. He sits in front of me – in the very front down by the screen in the area where nobody sits unless it is opening night of a blockbuster summer extravaganza.He is alone, and noticeably so. His hair has waves in it and he is thin. What is his story?I think he is a covert operative. Why would this boy come to see A Streetcar Named Desire all alone and sit in the front row? He had a small bag of popcorn with him. Perhaps he was there to tape a brief encoded message to the bottom of his seat for another agent to find. Or perhaps he is secretly in love with the young Marlon Brando and his friends must never know. What a tragedy it must be for him, so entranced by a man who was his age in 1951. He stares up at the silvered image that towers two metres in front of him and shoots for the sky.
I was alone too. But my bag of popcorn was huge. It filled my emptiness.