Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Rangzeb Hussain Feb 2011
Journey to Mecca – The IMAX Experience

Imagine the scene... There are crowds of people milling about, some in queues, some chatting by the windows, others sipping a warm drink. There are children playing in corners, babies drinking milk, and wherever you look you see people of all creeds and races united under the banner of a shared humanity. And what is the reason for this diverse cross section of society to be present in one place on a quiet and sleepy Sunday afternoon at Birmingham’s ThinkTank? The answer is right there across the busy foyer. It is a poster for a new IMAX film called “Journey to Mecca”. The very air bubbles with excitement and expectation as the cinema staff cut the proverbial ribbon and usher the people into the auditorium.

Space, vast and open, is the first thing that hits the audience as they take their seats and let their eyes wander over the immense spectrum of the IMAX screen. A map unfurls across the screen and a narrator explains the time and lays down the background to the scene that is about to commence. The year is 1325, the place is Tangier and the story is about a man who is about to embark upon a journey to the holy city of Mecca on a pilgrimage. The charismatic young man is Ibn Battuta, he stares at the stars that twinkle across the canvas of the night sky and he dreams of spires, of domes, of jewelled cities that sparkle in the desert sands, and his vision swoops like a falcon over the alleys and streets of the kingdom until they rest upon the Ka’aba, the sacred building at the heart of Islam.

Ibn Battuta bids farewell to his beloved family and sets out on his journey which will see him tested, both physically and psychologically, as he travels to the fabled city of Mecca. His trials and tribulations on the road to Mecca are detailed with an emotional richness rarely seen in modern cinema. The script is nuanced in a way that allows the audience to connect with the action and the various characters. The depth of research and the care in which the tale is told is delicately balanced. This is cinema as entertainment and as education.

The film reveals the magic and wonder of the Hajj by contrasting the life of Ibn Battuta with modern day worshippers at the same holy sites as those visited by the young traveller all those years ago. The scale of the event is brought to realisation in a way that will make even the most jaded film connoisseur gasp with astonishment.

In terms of technicalities, the IMAX technology is notorious for being extremely expensive and difficult to master. The format does not allow for the creative freedom that one can utilize in 35mm, so it is to the credit of the crew that this film looks seamless and breathtaking. Every single frame of the drama is a beautifully crafted canvas that seems to glow like a painting. The cinematography is exemplary and employs a painterly palette. The deserts and mountains are dry, cracked and dusty brown like wrinkled parchment while the sun drips golden lava across the scorching landscape. The white garments of the pilgrims are like beacons floating in the creamy dust of the desert sands whilst the tapestries hanging in the bazaars are lovingly stitched in green and blue threads; and the silver and gold bangles on the arms and ankles of the village girls ****** and twinkle. The atmosphere of warmth and friendship is apparent in every scene, especially when the succulent food is shared by the soft red glow of the campfires. High above this blend of colours, languages and the swirl of human emotions are the dancing stars that ripple in the heavens. The spectacle and sounds of a bygone era are stunningly designed.

The soundtrack also serves the film quite well. The music is never intrusive or melodramatic, it is there as a soft accompaniment to the proceedings. The use of strings, Moorish mandolins, African percussion and the human voice brings an exotic and ethereal ambiance to the drama.

“Journey to Mecca” is a journey of hope, a journey of understanding and a journey that will inspire. The sheer magnitude and beauty of this film left the audience awed and instilled a desire to learn more about the past which we sometimes neglect to reflect upon in our fast moving lives. This film is an ode to peace, love and compassion, and acts as a bridge of understanding between the past and present. And, as the film fades to black at the ******, there is a final haunting image that will resonate with every member of the audience. The message is simple and poignant. It illustrates the transient and swift nature of life; it shows how we glow brightly by the light of the noon day sun and then fade into the tranquil shadows of the coming twilight. Our journey in this life should be one that respects all of humanity despite our cultural or political differences. It is not often that one leaves the cinema knowing that your soul has been moved by something rare, delicate and exquisite. This was one of those rare occasions.
Brandon Conway Jun 2018
You're a painter with brush
My face isn't worth painting

You're a writer with pen
My story isn't worth writing

You're a poet with soul
My umbra isn't worth rhyming

You're a photographer with camera
My appearance isn't worth capturing

You're a director with 35mm
My action isn't worth watching

You're the artist
I am the creative block
Carlo C Gomez May 2023
hand cranked
re-imagined 35mm slides
Rough Trade posters
on the wall
Pepsi and premade sandwiches
on the counter

aperture: wide open
he sees her often at the multiplex
there she flirts
from the third row; second seat
sheer blouse
hands in elliptical motion
pointing toward
silk chiffon shells
the invite in a tilt of her mouth
lip; gloss
eyes hidden from the light

a prayer before intermission
celluloid reliquary
reveals God's plans
lest her trifling with him
cause a miss in changeover
enraging his self-regarded audience
the walk back to his car
one long montage of her lacing up
Michael Pham Feb 2018
he and i met up at my place
and chilled and talked for a bit.
i began to feel warmth as i listened to his voice,
then looked at his smile,
his eyes,
his dimple on his cheek.
i gave him his gift:
a t-shirt from his favorite band and album.
he said thank you as he continued smiling,
and it made me feel warmer than i was before.

moments later,
we walked to the green line.
i was going to take him to
one of my favorite coffee shops in the west loop.
he told me that we would probably be late to get in.
the coffee shop closes at 5 while
we got on the train at around 3:40.
i told him that we were gonna make it.
i was surprised i would be the optimistic one
since i was a huge load of a pessimist from the past week.
luckily, we got to the coffeeshop an hour before it closed.
he ordered a cappuccino,
i ordered myself a hot chocolate.
we then grabbed our drinks and found a table
in a faraway corner near the restrooms
and began our conversation from there.
it was a nice one and i still felt the same amount of warmth
as i looked and listened to him.
i knew that he had a girlfriend
and that i shouldn't keep my hopes up,
but ****, is he a gem.
i just couldn't help myself.
i was also kind of surprised how we kept looking at each other
in the eyes for long periods of time.
don't know if that's a sign or anything, but, it would be frequent.

an hour later, we decided to head out to my place again.
i took some pictures of him outside the coffeeshop
with my 35mm camera and laughed when i
saw a customer almost photobombing my photo
through the window.
minutes passed and we were already back at the green line,
waiting for the train to arrive.
the sunset was so amazing,
but seeing the view of him made it better.

we made it back to my place
and relaxed for a bit once again.
he remembered that he saw a bass guitar
leaning against the wall and asked
if he can play it.
it wasn't mine but i asked one of my roommates
if he can play it and he said as long as he knows
how to set it up.
he, of course, knew since he plays bass himself.

i heard the notes he played and i began to feel mesmerized
with every note that he played.
although his rhythm was a bit off since he
wasn't used to my roommate's bass,
he was still pretty good.
the low frequencies coming from the bass amplifier
softly vibrated my ears as i was hypnotized by
his fingers moving as he presses on each fret.
i guess the vibrations made me feel a bit warm, too.

the day finally ends as i was about to walk him out of my dorm.
when we got to the front door and before he left,
he said thanks again for the gift.
and then he hugged me.
he hugged me.
i finally felt his warmth for a second or two.
it was a friendly hug, but, it still felt nice.

i remember him saying it would be cool if he can hang
every other weekend when i'm free.
i'm gonna keep that promise for sure.
i really like this guy that i've met in college and have known for six months. and even if he has a girlfriend and says he's straight, he would just give me mixed signals whenever we see each other or go outside our school campus in which we did twice now. i really hope he doesn't see this or know this website exists, but either way, i had a really good time with this guy and that he made my weekend so much better.
Faeri Shankar Jan 2014
You're feeling jubilant as your eye captures the perfect illumination of a scene you've seen a hundred times, yet never perceived in this manner before. You ****** your old '85 from the snare of the paper-ridden desktop and keenly snap the staggered allure--until the low, guttural groan of the sprocket slices through your absorption. You abruptly lower the body to bury your misdemeanor within the unanimous truth of the data panel--but alas! Your aspirations are dissolved by the sudden rush of blood berating, "what a pillock!" As your cheeks fill with the crimson truth revealed in the seven-segment display partially reflecting your open jaw dappled like sympathy flowers atop the silent chastising of the slow-blinking "24".
The girl in the canary yellow dress
tosses her dried baguette crumbs onto the dirt.
With 35mm eyes her parents watch
as flying beggars swoop down
to feast on a simple meal.

Neon signs flash, blending in with the
clicks of the tourists.
Words blinking in a language
foreign to her own.

Beastialité!
Deux jeunes filles,
une tasse!


Her dark ringlets bounce in
the breeze from the red windmill,
where Nini-legs-in-the-air once cut rugs.
A whisper reaches her,
calling in a language she has
yet to learn.
Tim Knight Jun 2013
Celluloid cells of candid smile fun
printed in race track, river-run stems,
the 120 down to the 35mm
fold it over to form the hem.

You can be my New York
that never sleeps
or that Venice Beach
with bright, chiselled high cheeks
or
the more probable
lesbian lover I’ll never get to meet;

meet properly for a drink.
coffeeshoppoems.com
It's mwe May 2019
I brought some rolls for us tonight
so the photograph would be under the blue and yellow light
because the world is now knowing that we both alright
after leaving those fight and some dark night.
Rose Oct 2018
Those endless butterflies
that bring contagious
uncontrollable
smiles to your face
and make it impossible
to think of anything but
those brown eyes
if you know, you know
LWZ Jun 2019
New routines
Broken dreams
Fair weather friends
At my doorstep
Reveal yourself
Feel the intensity
I can’t go on without it
I don’t want it if you’re not exposed
I must feel in control
Blake Bumpus Jan 2012
waiting outside of the recording studio
near the train tracks and the tall buildings
running out of time.
an old gypsy woman
wearing magenta rubber boots
and riding a  stained crimson fixed gear
passes me, trains come and go billowing
their impatient whistles
as I take double exposures of them and the sky
with my lomo 35mm.
Ate nothing but six shots
of espresso
and a pack of cigarettes last night, with
a side of liquor which
reminded me too much of memories too good
to be worth remembered .

Best advice I've read in three months;
wear sunscreen, and realize that
good advice is wasted on the young,
advice is also a form of nostalgia,
the givers of it reach out to the dirtier parts
of their memories, clean it up into something
hopefully worth salvaging.
another train passes and I start to grow
impatient myself, a long day of work
ahead of me.
Francis Nov 2023
The first bite of a Mallomar,
Crunching like a boot,
On a fresh sheet of snow.

The sip of Ginger Ale,
On crushed ice,
With the squeeze of a lemon wedge

The smell of crisp Autumn air,
In September,
Just before the leaves change.

A puff of rich tobacco,
Rolled in Maduro,
With a glass of Scotch.

A salty, fatty, crispy steak,
Dripping of meat juice,
As it swims in steak sauce.

The lips of a beautiful woman,
Inside and out,
Pressing up against mine.

My fingers flicking,
Through fresh paper,
Of a brand new hardcover.

The feeling you get,
When seeing prints developed,
From your own 35mm roll of film.

A big, salty, garlicky pickle,
After a deli sandwich,
On a Saturday afternoon.

The palette punch,
Of a salt and vinegar chip,
From a fresh bag.

Looking at all that gives me joy,
One can see the truth,
In the meaning of life.

Little things,
Oh so grand,
In a world of big woes.
Not my favorite poem but the sentiment is important.
William Daniel Jun 2016
Fragile flickering celluloid reels
Behind the light of the projector
A single beam of changing colors
Displayed on the silver screen ahead.
Fixtures dim and black the room
Filled an audience anxious and waiting,
Waiting to see what’s to be seen.
I love the look of film!
In its variety of size and color
35mm and 70
Digital and Film
Black and white to Technicolor
Three dimensions or two.
The history of an art form
Forming before your eyes
Seen here are the scenes of time
From anywhere that’s been seen
A dynamic show of lives lived and lost
Brought in pieces pieced together
By those much like us
Unfolding a world survived
By war and a way of life lost
Fallen years ago
Survived by the look of cellulloid
A world encompassed in film;
Where time is never lost
And life is always found.

:)
noura May 2020
they keep running out like roll film before me
pictures clicking away faster than i can see
never repeating old faces flashing by
who are you? perhaps seen once in a lullaby
projector is strangely static - the cartridge drops
still it’s going and it’s going and it never stops
nothing! nothing but it’s all over my fingertips
smudged on my forehead and dripping from my lips
i cannot perceive these silverscreens
tangible airs or figments of my dreams
going and going until it tears and rips
nothing! endless nothings all over my fingertips
xmelancholix Aug 2017
there is.
a ladybug on the ceiling.
there is nothing more.
maybe a lady on the negatives
on a 35mm in
a pawnshop.
but there is
a  ladybug on the ceiling.
they are the same
idk
ShamusDeyo Mar 2015
Amid an Upper Floor
Of the Ford Building
Was a Friends Studio, For
Commercial Photographing

A Ponderous sized Room
Complete with 12 foot ceilings
6' x 4' foot Softboxes on Stands
10' boom Stand angled is Key Lighting

All Surround a Mottled Muslin Background
1200 Watt Strobe Pack with cord like snakes
To Strobe Heads, Imbue the room with Light
Some soft shadowless, other pin sharp bright

Instantly my mind took in the Possibilities
If I should delve into this Art of Photography
So Enamored was I, to use Studio and Lights
I mopped and polished floor to a Shiny Sight

The feeling I had connecting Camera to cord
I knew that Moment I could ill Afford to
Not Pursue this Pashion as I Shot a.....
Lovely Young Model of Fashion

Accordian Like Toyo Large Format Camera
Ansel Adams treked up mountains to shoot Vistas
Have Stood the test of time, and Anals of our History
Or the Mamya's and Hassleblads Favored By Fashion

The 35mm Nikon F3, though its one I could ill afford
He used to teach Me, and Softboxes the Light Adored
It was Barely Shadowy, A Keylight with a snoot was bright
With Light and Shadow my Palette I began Photography

Of the Studio Life and the Parties at Night,
I could go on and on, Cold Pressed Coffee
Long after Sunrise, was the Ritual of the Yawns
This Tale's How I began the Art of Photography...JMF 3/2/2015

I went on for 10 years Doing Commercial and Weddings*
My photo website is www.shamusmediaarts.com
I sill Keep a small studio now, shooting strictly digital
K W Blenkhorn Feb 2013
Perched on a shelf surrounded by its products;
the multitude of moments, caught and hung
on hooks. A black eye, engulfing all that comes into focus.
The series of mechanisms transform life into stills with a single
mechanical shriek, a flash, and the exposure to light.

Seizing the world through an optic lens: a reflection
of the concrete embedded onto 35mm film.
The amnesic lag, from op to development lets
time for nostalgia to set in, and each image
invokes a myriad of memories.

But behind the automation, there is the
overwhelming urge to contour time.
To trap it in a wooden frame and exhibit
it like a trophy. All the while unaware that
moments cannot be captured for currency.
There are times when I see the world
through the apparatus of a camera.
But the shutter speed is set for too long
and everything develops into a blur.
J M Surgent Aug 2013
Someday,

I want to sell it all,

And buy a Leica,

And a 35mm lens,

And tour the world,

And show you all,

"That's not what you need."
Antony Glaser Jul 2022
As a  swallow you are delicate
like a Leica you are a masterpiece,
with rubberized curtains.
You travel well  and always provide
a cozy 35mm  lens in one's Christmas locker.
Intuitive shutter in the lens mount,
built for overall compactness.
Astrophotography is another treat
for this durable camera.
Patrick Harrison Jun 2020
3/5
She was a model, but now she's terrified.
She looks in the mirror, scratches all the imperfections.
A day rolls by, and she looks again.
She doesn't see herself, doesn't see Lisanne Falk.
She scratches all the imperfections, like her face is
a guitar's fret board and she is soloing. Like her face
is a test where she got every answer wrong.

A day rolls by, like the hills past her parent's car on those old
recordings she keeps in 35mm.
You can see reflections of the 70's in the grainy film, an odd beauty to the young girl in them, and the long days at the beach.
There's this one where her and her mother are walking along a
narrow bay, with rocks everywhere. They're looking for shells.
She picks one up, holding it to her ear. Her mother stops her, and
she mockingly says "Lisanne, the ocean's right there!".
For a brief moment, as she turns around to look back at the camera with the softest, most soulful smile a child could muster, Lisanne stares at the screen in the dark. For a little while, a fraction of a second maybe, Lisanne is back in 1972, with her mother and her father picking sea shells off the beach and listening to the waves crash against the shore.
Patrick Harrison May 2020
I scour over the memories- pictures on the floor.
Some 35mm, some 600, a few digital printed on paper;
all languages I have known.

I take my time writing them out for myself,
the dates, as I rip them and throw them away. I think I used
to be someone else.

Like, the kind of person that would laugh at other's struggles
with humanity. Saying all the while, "Your problems are nothing compared to mine!" while I became increasingly bitter.

I don't like riding this blurred line,
I hope you never cried.
But I would never say it out loud.

No, I'll keep that to myself.
And all these moments afterwards,
where I see the speckled clouds behind my
screen; reflections of a time I remember a year ago.

So loud is the thundering,
though the clouds are white.

— The End —