The cinema has learned a great deal from the theater about presentation. Gone are the days when crowds were packed on wooden benches in tumble-down buildings to gape the antics of silent, jerking figures on the screen, where some poor pianist made frantic efforts to translate the dramas into music. These days it is quite easier to find a cinema that surpasses a theater in luxury. Even in small villages, cinemas are spacious, well-lit and well-ventilated places where one can sit for comfort. The projectionist has been trained to give the audience time to prepare themselves for the film they are to see. Talk drops to a whisper and then fades out together. As soon as the cinema is in darkness, spotlights are focused on the curtains which are drawn slowly apart, often to the accompany Of music, to reveal the title of the film.
Everything has carefully contrived so that the spectator will never actually see the naked screen which will remind him all too sharply that what he is about to see is nothing merely shadows flickering on a white board. However much the cinema tries to simulate the conditions in a theater, it never fully succeeds. Nothing can equal to the awe and sense of hushed expectation which is felt by a theater audience as the curtain is slowly risen.