The Secret Paris Cinema Club
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Alain Bonnard, the owner of a small art cinema in Paris, is a dyed-in-the-wool nostalgic. In his Cinéma Paradis there are no buckets of popcorn, no XXL colas, no Hollywood blockbusters. Alain holds firm to his principles of quality - to show films that bring dreams to life, make people fall in love. And Alain would do anything for his clientele - particularly the mysterious woman in the red coat who, for some time now, has turned up every Wednesday and always sits in row seventeen. What could her story be?
Finally one evening Alain plucks up courage to invite the unknown beauty to dinner. But just as the most tender of love stories is getting under way, something happens that turns Alain's life upside down, shoving his little cinema unexpectedly into the public eye. So when the woman in the red coat suddenly vanishes from his life, the cinema owner can't help but wonder if it is more than a coincidence. Taking matters into his own hands, Alain sets off in search of the stranger he has come to love - roll the opening credits for a timeless cinematic romance worthy of the Parisian silver screen!
films were good for nothing but putting silly ideas into people’s heads. No, that was hardly respectable! My parents found my friendship with my unconventional uncle—who was not married and had taken part together with rioting students and famous filmmakers like François Truffaut in the demonstrations during the Paris spring of 1968 against the closure of the Cinématèque française by the minister of culture and sometimes even spent the night on the battered old sofa in the projection
him. “Yeah, if the friend had a name, that might be a hot tip,” said Robert. “Sorry. I don’t even know if Mélanie mentioned her name at all. I only know that she said that her friend’s cat always drinks out of a flower vase.” “Aha.” Robert raised an eyebrow. “Do you at least know the cat’s name?” He grinned. “That would be a new starting point.” “Yeah, yeah, Mr. Holmes, mock on.” I wondered for a moment if I should mention the black cat I’d seen in the courtyard of Mélanie’s building in the
of Cap d’Antibes. Solène was sitting at the mirror, her back to the door, attended by two women who were busily combing her hair. She didn’t notice me. No one seemed to notice me, except perhaps for Madame Clément, who had obviously become one of the crew herself. I tottered into the auditorium, where the temperature was tropical, and had to shut my eyes, blinded by the lights. When I opened them again, I saw a big bearded man standing behind a camera, taking test shots with the lighting
sake, Alain, pull yourself together. Your self-pity is getting just too bad. What’s really happened?” “Enough,” I said. “I have a sprained ankle and a black eye.” “A black eye?” I heard Robert’s astonished laughter. “Have you been scrapping with someone?” “No, someone’s been scrapping with me,” I growled. “Solène Avril’s jealous boyfriend came to Paris and laid into all the men in her vicinity with his fists, including me.” “Wow!” said Robert. “You really do lead an exciting life. Famous
and the Petits were there, and I even found the wrong Mélanie from the building in the rue de Bourgogne in the foyer. They all wanted to see Tender Thoughts of Paris, and I was also particularly looking forward to it, but seeing all the familiar faces smiling at me kept me thinking of my own story. Suddenly, Robert was at my side. “Now introduce her to me at last,” he said. “I’ve specially come on my own.” I sighed. “You’re evil, Robert, you know that?” I took him by the sleeve and led him