Ah, I think this sublime love tragedy of modern film history has come to an end, some years before. It certainly won’t be shown in this cinema ((中壢新明戲院)) anymore.
Here, fortune favored the diligent—or perhaps the stubborn. I passed by several times, and it seemed impossible to get in. Until one day, a door to the second floor was open. I talked the Vietnamese migrant worker into letting me in. The structure of the cinema is still recognizable.
Not everything is exactly safe, of course. The cinema was on the second floor; the third floor was probably a market hall.
The market hall on the ground floor still exists. Some people are using the cinema as a dumping ground.
The cinema is located in the old market area of Zhongli, which is increasingly being replaced by new halls.
In process
I love these old Taiwanese morning markets. They feel much more traditional than the night markets. They start early in the morning and often finish before noon. Meat, vegetables, and fish are still laid out openly on the streets. Vendors loudly shout out their prices. It’s simple—this is Asia.
To the government, these markets are something of an eyesore. They don’t fit the image of Taiwan that a pencil-pushing bureaucrat might prefer. Often, they are replaced by modern market halls. But for me (and for many Taiwanese), they are part of everyday life. I do think, however, that younger generations can’t really relate to them—these markets may disappear within the next 30 years. The best ones are still those tucked away in covered, dimly lit passageways.
