The Glorias of Cine Jóia
I was shocked today to discover that Cine Jóia has closed. What's worse, this happened almost six years ago, almost unnoticed. An emblematic place in the cultural life of Rio de Janeiro's South Zone, unpretentious, with a varied and high-quality program, it was for a long time one of my favorite cinemas while I lived in the city.
When I went to the Sunday movie sessions, I was guaranteed two shows. I'm not talking about double screen sessions, but rather the cinematographic spectacle shown on the screen and the spectacle made up of the varied fauna that inhabits Copacabana.
The neighborhood where this cinema is located, like any famous tourist destination, is not for the uninitiated. You have to work hard to remove the superficial layers of garbage with which mass tourism has covered this jewel in recent decades, so that you can rediscover its shine. Squeezed between favelas and the sea, it has a vibrant nightlife, a wide range of cultural programs, a mild climate and vestiges of 1950s glamour. In recent decades, all these advantages have attracted hordes of senior citizens from all over Brazil, who have migrated there in the hope of enjoying the last years of their lives.
The Cine Jóia, of course, was a meeting place for Copacabana's elderly residents, who, insensitive to the advantages of video streaming, remained faithful to the magic of movie screens, popcorn with guarana and casual flirting in the darkened rooms on Sunday afternoons.
Hidden away at the back of a shopping center on Av. Nossa Senhora de Copacabana, among demodé boutiques, sex shops and optical shops, Cine Jóia could go unnoticed by the unwary. It was nothing more than a small glass door and a box office, which only opened minutes before the screening began. While that didn't happen, the group of spectators spilling out into the corridors of the shopping center watched each other discreetly and gossiped half-heartedly.
I remember well the last movie I saw in that theater. The theater was packed that day. The audience stirred in their seats, eager to start watching the Chilean version of “Gloria”, directed by Sebastián Lelio and starring Paulina Garcia. Much better than the more recent version directed by the same filmmaker and starring Julianne Moore. In it, a sexually active 58-year-old woman overturns the traditional view of a woman of this age, concerned exclusively with caring for her grandchildren and household chores. Gloria is a woman who fights for her right to a life of pleasure. Every weekend she goes to the senior citizens' balls in search of adventure.
At one of these dances, Glória meets Rodolfo, a divorced man, with whom she starts dating. However, she ends up being humiliated by her new lover when he decides to return to his ex-wife and children. After an apotheotic revenge, Gloria reappears, deeply depressed, on the dance floor of a nightclub. In an emotional final scene, she rediscovers the pleasure of living to the sound of 'Gloria', an 80s hit sung by Laura Branigan.
When the lights came on in the theater that day, all the spectators began to dance in the narrow space between the screen and the first row of seats, lulled by the film's soundtrack. All of them were radiant, their souls washed clean by Gloria's spectacular revenge on the Rodolfos of life and her demonstration of an inexhaustible zest for life. That afternoon, I noticed with amazement that the audience was almost exclusively female. There were only two men, who watched the impressive scene static, huddled by the exit door.
Today, when I heard that Cine Jóia had closed, I felt a pang of sadness at the disappearance of yet another of the rare meeting places in the Copacabana community that still survive. I wonder where the Glorias of Copacabana now gather?
Translated with DeepL.com (free version)
Voltar