The Labia Theatre Turns 75: A Conversation with Ludi Kraus – Episode 3
Welcome to Talking Movies. A beloved Cape Town landmark has been a hub for arts and culture for 75 years now, and to celebrate its anniversary, I sat down with Ludi Kraus at the Labia Theatre to find out more about the cinema, its evolution, and some of the stories that make up its curious history.
Is there a specific film or filmmaker that holds a special place in the history of this cinema?
Yes, I think. Look, I think there are a number, but I can immediately think of Giuseppe Tonatore and Cinema Paradiso. Cinema Paradiso, in a way, it’s been my story, although not in the projection room, but outside the projection room.
I have to admit that I still wouldn’t know how to put on a film. And I used to have many an embarrassing moment in the time of 16mm movies where I’d end up at a party and they would decide to show a 16mm film on a Bell & Howell projector or something, and I’d say, “oh, Ludi’s here, he runs cinemas, he can put on the film for us”. I didn’t have a clue.
So Cinema Paradiso, I think it’s one of those films that audiences can very much relate to the Labia. One of the aspects related to Tonatore of the birthday celebrations is a tribute to Ennio Morricone, the great form composer who died about two years ago and who directed it, his close friend Giuseppe Tonatore.
So Tonatore suddenly disappeared out of the blue. He was here many years ago for a retrospective during the Cape Town Film Festival, so he was here in person, we showed a number of his films…
When you said Cinema Paradiso, it just completely made sense. There’s such a special resonance between that film and the Labia, and what it means to love cinema and have a passion for it and be a part of your community, and growing up with it as well, and how it ties into your biography as well. That is absolutely on point.
And any other filmmakers or films that jump to mind?
I suppose one of my favourite films is The Unbearable Lightness of Being. And I used to go to Cannes when it was affordable once a year. So the working holiday became unaffordable with the registration, the accommodation and the food and everything. So I stopped going. But I remember going to Cannes the one year, I got there I think a day early, and it was pouring with rain. So I thought, well, why don’t I go to a movie? I didn’t think at the moment that most films would be in French without subtitles. I came to this one cinema complex, I saw this poster up, I didn’t work out then that that was The Unbearable Lightness of Being.
It just opened in America and I just heard of it. And I didn’t realize that the French actually related to the title. It somehow looked attractive. I don’t know why. So I thought, I’ll go see that film. I then realized I was watching a film in French.
And the film is very long. But despite the fact that I hardly understood a word, the acting of the three main characters was so brilliant. And the film was so fantastic that I came out of there absolutely shattered.
As luck would have had it, I stayed in a hotel next to a cinema. And at about 11 o’clock at night, the cinema would come out and the people would find out past my room. And I would hear the music from The Unbearable Lightness of Being. And when of course, I eventually saw the film in South Africa in English, I mean, I saw even more than I had seen. But the fact that one could watch a nearly three hour film or whatever it was in a foreign language without understanding it and still being able to be involved in the film and to follow the film really pays tribute, I think, to a really great film. And that will always be on my list of one of the great films.
And what other stories do you like telling about the Labia?
There’s another one related to Werner Herzog, of course, the great German director. He came out to Cape Town one year for a retrospective of his films, also part of the then Cape Town Film Festival, which brought out many great directors. And the retrospective was at the Labia.
And I was told I had to meet him one morning at the Labia. He wanted to test his film or one of his films. I was so nervous because I had these visions of Werner Herzog almost as being like a Crocodile Dundee, because he always filmed where nobody else would go, the burning oil fields of Iran, the Amazon jungle.
So I thought of him as this great adventurer, was also very worried as to whether our picture and sound would be up to his approval. Anyway, I’m standing at the back of the Labia. He arrives and he looked so much like I looked. And I’m not the greatest adventurer. And I thought, how is this possible? And he was such a nice guy. He was happy with everything.
And it was such a surprise.
And I remember during the festival going to have a coffee at a coffee shop one day. And this young guy comes up to me and he says, Mr. Herzog, can I have your autograph, please? And I stupidly tried to argue that I was not Mr. Herzog.
Had I just signed it, I probably would have made him happy. And it would have been a lot easier.
