Movie magic in the Arctic

What a pleasure it was to read about Michael Murphy’s new movie theatre in Pangnirtung in the July 26, 2002, edition of Nunatsiaq News, “Let the Show Begin.”

I was a regular at the Mission Hall in Puvirnituq, Nunavik, on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons in the 1970s, where movies were shown for the local kids. Hordes of us would trek down the hill to watch whatever movie was available.

It didn’t matter if the plane hadn’t come in that day with a fresh movie, we’d pay to see the same one four or five times if it was offered. Admission was 50¢, and we’d pool our quarters to make sure our friends got in. A dollar made you rich because you could buy a bag of chips and a can of pop while the film reels were changed.

Movie showings for adults were on Fridays and Saturdays (I think). Admission was more expensive, and no kids were allowed unless under strict parent supervision. Which was fine, since most of us had to babysit younger siblings while our parents went.

We never cared that the movies were ancient productions compared to what Hollywood offered down south. Given the absence of television, VCRs and movie previews, we didn’t know the movies were old.

While Star Wars splashed across the southern screens, we were dazzled by The Planet of the Apes series in Puvirnituq. We watched John Wayne and Elvis, and the Three Stooges. It was a whole new world in which to immerse ourselves. We’d troop out of the hall hours later all squinty-eyed, singing and shouting the latest theme at the top of our lungs.

Movies at the mission ceased in the very early 1980s when television arrived in the community and people lost interest in the Mission movies. The Mission no longer exists, and I’m sad because it played such an important role in my young life.

We forced and punched our way into the hall, fighting over the metal chairs because there weren’t enough to go around. We yelled at the screen, cheered for the good guys and booed the bad. When we got too rowdy, the people running the movies used to put the cap on the projector until we settled down.

Boys practised their Kung Fu moves during recess and named their puppies Cornelius, after one of the apes. To the average adult, it must sound like an ad for Tylenol headache relief, but we loved it. It was something to do, something sheltered and structured for kids. We were supervised, although God knows, I pity the people who had to supervise us.

Decades later while living in Iqaluit, my young niece and I started a movie matinee tradition when Bryan Pearson opened his theatre. The Astro Hill Theatre is positively opulent compared to what I grew up with, but I was pleased to see the same type of little-kid society forming during the shows.

I didn’t begrudge my niece’s request to see My Dog Skip three times, because I remembered the pleasure of repetition and the importance of just being there. I must admit the new generation is much quieter than we ever were in Puvirnituq. I was a regular at Pearson’s theatre from the time it opened until the time I moved to Ottawa.

Now Murphy is starting the trend in Pangnirtung. Hopefully with the waning of the initial fascination with television, more initiatives such as his will start cropping up in other communities. Way to go, bravo, and if I’m ever in Pangnirtung again, I’ll be sure to stop by and take in the latest on the silver screen.

Sydney Sackett
Ottawa