1954 Indianapolis, Indiana
Carolyn Bigler
Born in 1945
Indianapolis, Indiana
Interviewed on September 18, 2019
By Tristan Bigler, Pace University
It is nothing less than a thrill visiting the Indianapolis cinema. Nothing in our old town, Seamore, compares to this. Seamore was the simplest, most ungrand of towns, and yet, my heart aches a bit remembering our memories there. Dad used to take Sally and me to the movies every Friday to see either a western or a serial film, but since his new promotion, which also resulted in our move, he has had much less time. Which wouldn’t be such a problem, if Sally and I could simply walk to locations around the town, like we could before. But with everything so much bigger in the capital city, we need a car to get anywhere. And if we need a car, we need a driver. Incidentally, Sally and I have become experts at determining how many times we can ask Mother to drive us places before she deems us intolerable. Tonight, we successfully read her extroverted energy. She agreed to take us to the movies after just one ask!
We arrive at the Ritz Theatre. It is an impressive brick building, with a marquee sticking out. The word “RITZ” is spelled out in big, bright letters on every side of the awning. Two large columns with ornate decorations extend up around the entrance, and between them, tall, arched windows. For a minute it’s hard for me to remember Seamore’s dingy, flat, one-room theatre. We are a bit early, so we loiter outside, reading the various poster advertisements. Then, we enter through the big doors and purchase tickets for “The Picture of Dorian Gray.” Mother chose this, as she heard it is a wonderful mystery. I cannot complain; I am happy enough to just be out of the house. We find our auditorium and take our seats. Mother sits between Sally and I.
Before the film even begins, a public service announcement plays, advertising a cure for polio. I see images of children, just like myself, in wheelchairs, completely unable to walk due to this disease. Although the advertisement is a promotion for the vaccine, I feel a wave of anxiety hit me, and I have a terrifying realization. I lean over the armrest. “Mother. I have polio. I can’t feel my legs.” My mother looks me in the eyes, complete boredom in her eyes. Not a single hint of concern. “No you don’t, Carolyn. Uncross your legs.” I do as she says and soon realize she must be right. I don’t have much time to dwell because the movie starts.
Dorian Gray’s portrait is painted by a friend. As he poses, he naively wishes the portrait would age instead of him. As time goes on, Dorian does not get a single day older; instead, any maturity happens to his picture. What an astonishing storyline! I am completely fascinated by it. During the climax of the movie, Dorian hides the portrait in the attic so people don’t find out about his unusual circumstance. Years later, Dorian looks the exact same. But we see a glimpse of the portrait. His awful painted face is festered, blistered, and rotted. The image is seared into my brain, undoubtedly one I will never forget.
