Gypsies, Cinema

It’s always a risk going to the Harlow Cineworld, particularly on a Saturday and especially in the evening. At best the film will be spoilt by incessant chattering, rattling popcorn, coke slurping and the stench of sneaked in hot takeaway food. At worse, full scale war.

I had a premonition of evil as soon as I pressed through the glass doors and fell into the foyer and it wasn’t because The Last Exorcism was being shown on Screen One. I was instantly dazzled by the brightness of gold chains resting on bare chests, with gelled back hair and testosterone dripping from the ceiling. There was plenty of bare nubile flesh on view as well, sprayed generously with fake tan, and wearing glittering skirts akin to belts and makeup trowelled on to excess. When one apprentice slut approached me and said ‘mate, me boyfriend wants to fight you’ I rapidly came to two conclusions, first, a contingent of travellers had invaded Harlow, and second, they were to join me in watching The Last Exorcism.

I escaped a fight with the Rambo-like monster by offering him a puny smile. With pride buried I sneaked into a brimming Screen One. The safe option was to sit near the back where I could observe the hostility as the travellers arrived in small groups, bouncing along the aisles with bling in full tow. They quickly took up several rows, chaos followed.

The play-fighting, mock arguing and cackling into mobiles spilled into the commercials and eventually into the start of the film. The inevitable complaints came and security guards were called in but they were hopeless. I spotted Rambo squaring up to one of the guards, if he missed out on his chance of murdering me then he would seek vengeance on this undernourished Somalia security guard. Rambo took the first step by nudging the guard’s shoulder, alarmed, he then snarled and responded by calling Rambo a ‘gypsy shit’. I heard it clearly, as did the couple in front and so did the 30-odd gypsy shits. Clearly panicked, the guard mumbled something into his shoulder before two further guards promptly arrived. The film had been running for 20 minutes but the live entertainment was more gripping. I was expecting a riot. Within minutes the lights were switched on and several police officers had stormed Screen One. Rambo was arrested, a popular decision greeted with plenty of applause. There was one further arrest, the fake tan confirmed it was Rambo’s girlfriend, and the rest of the travellers were given centre stage and a police escort away from the cinema.

The film was restarted, with no further incident, however I couldn’t help imagining Rambo, knife in mouth, flesh camouflaged, stalking my car and seeking revenge on an evening spoilt. I half-contemplated leaving the car behind and taking the train home, such was my paranoia.