When we walk into a cinema we know what we are doing. We go there for a specific purpose. We go to have our emotions manipulated in a certain way, depending on the type of experience we have chosen: drama, love story, mystery, fantasy. We leave behind the bright lights of the world we know and walk into a room where the scene is set for us: the lights are dimmed and a soundtrack is played: a staged environment. Usually we are familiar with the setting, but not always. The others who are there with us have selected to share this experience. We sit in anticipation, with a vague idea of how things will unfold: we’ve seen the previews. We know the genre and what we can expect to a degree, yet we also know that we will experience things which are unfamiliar to us, which will hold our interest and create for us new memories. As the experience develops, we become less aware of ourselves in the cinema; unaware that we are observing. We are absorbed into the story and the characters become known to us; we have reactions. A skilful director weaves magic for us and creates for us emotional experiences which we are unlikely to have out on the street: escapism. On rare occasions we decide we are unwilling to continue and choose to leave early, feeling that the experience is not for us. Perhaps one day we will revisit that particular movie. For the most part though, the film plays out, the credits roll and we debrief the experience with each other. The darkness slowly lifts and we prepare to transition to the world outside the cinema. Walking back out into the sunshine of reality, we continue with our lives and await the sequel: our next life.