What I didn't know back then: This state actually has a name. In media psychology, it's called the "transportation effect" or "narrative immersion." It's that special state of consciousness in which we dissolve the boundaries between ourselves and the story, completely lose ourselves in the narrative, and forget everything around us.
And today? I sit in the same cinema seat, look at the same screen, but something is different. The walls between film and my perception have grown thicker. I still enjoy movies, maybe even analyze them better, but the intoxication, that complete immersion — it happens only rarely now.
Is it me? The films? Or perhaps our times?
I suspect it's a mixture of everything. As I've grown up, my cognitive filters have hardened. I evaluate, compare, categorize. The critical distance has grown larger. At the same time, we're exposed to constant sensory overload today. Our attention span shrinks while the flood of media swells. How can there still be room for deep immersion when the next distraction is already vibrating in our pocket?
You can actually observe the transportation effect: the altered perception of time, the reduced reactions to the environment, the involuntary physical responses to what's happening on screen. And after the film, that special floating state in which the emotional coloring of the story still lingers.
This is particularly evident in children. They reenact scenes, they continue living in the film world for hours. Adults, on the other hand, seem able to flip a switch. Film off, reality on. A pity, really.
And yet: It's worth cultivating this state again. In a world that constantly bombards us with stimuli, the ability to focus completely on a single experience has become a kind of superpower. The transportation effect not only offers valuable mental relaxation, it also expands our capacity for empathy by allowing us to experience foreign perspectives up close.
I've resolved to seek out this state more often. Phone off, expectations aside, critical mind set to standby mode for two hours. Simply being like I was back then, when I was all eyes and ears, receptive to the wonder of a well-told story.
Perhaps we'll meet in the cinema, in that brief moment after the credits when the lights aren't fully up yet and some of us aren't quite back in reality. Then we'll nod knowingly to each other, as members of a secret club of those who can still be enchanted.