The Gospel of Carrie White
When the lights dimmed and the screen began to flicker, I felt like I was standing in front of an altar. There was something holy about that crisp October night in Cambridge, when The Brattle theater transformed from a movie house into a cathedral of cinema. The smell of buttered popcorn floated through the air as strangers shuffled to creaky seats, their plastic cups fizzing with delicious cherry cola. It wasn’t just a screening. It was a gathering of believers. A horde of cinephiles grouped, itching for their fix.