Weekend Argus (Saturday Edition)
Keeping spirit of the Labia alive
Christene Chitter and Sedick Tassiem enjoy leading patrons toward quality cinema
LIKE a more than incidental feature of a movie sequence, the two ushers form a tableau, sitting on high-backed chairs against the foyer wall, awaiting their cue.
Fittingly enough, Christene Chitter and Sedick Tassiem make an almost theatrical pair.
In his black knitted gloves, red scarf drawn to his neck with a brass ring, and brimmed dove-grey hat, Tassiem is the very picture of styled composure.
Until he speaks, his face is so impassive it could be mistaken for being expressionless, yet contains a subtle, almost impish play of concealed emotion or humour, his alert, gleaming eyes seeming to take it all in with wry tolerance.
Beside him, Chitter, all in black, is his cheery foil, beaming with an enthusiasm that nearly four decades in the role has not dimmed.
It’s very likely the Labia wouldn’t be the same without them – not least their indispensable contribution to traditional cinema-going, leading patrons with torch beams to their seats in the darkened theatre.
Chitter and Tassiem, said Ludi Kraus – who, with his wife Ann, has owned the Labia since 1989 – are “part of the Labia family” at the landmark cinema complex in Orange Street.
And, in various ways, it emerges from Kraus’s account, affection is a big part of the Labia way.
Chitter is the exemplar. She joined in 1979.
“I was a counterhand then,” she recalled. That changed when another memorable veteran, the long-time usher Jacky Wiborg – whom Chitter calls “the lady at the door” – died.
“That’s when I took over,” she said, “and I’ve been doing it ever since.”
Regular patrons knew her so well they greeted her with a hug every time, Kraus said
And it’s evident from Chitter’s mid-interview tour – “And this is our old cinema”, she beamed with a flourish – her affection for the place itself runs deep.
She was instrumental in securing Tassiem a spot on the ushering roster.
Kraus grinned at the recollection: “Sedick actually employed himself here… he just walked in about six years ago and started working and he’s never left. He’s married to the Labia.”
Contrary to his initial impression of almost studied taciturnity, when he gets going, Tassiem is effusive. He doesn’t look anywhere near his 76 years, although his crammed account of his life’s activities gives the tally credence.
Tassiem joined the Labia after retiring from one of the larger cinema chains after 15 years’ service.
But there is more to him that meets the eye, he insisted.
“I am in music, too… yes, singing, dancing. In different countries. Twenty-seven in all. I was almost married in Hamburg once.
“And I play many instruments. I never went to music school, but I can play many instruments. You must write this down. I play, let me see, banjo, piano accordion, piano, violin, organ, trumpet, trombone, tenor sax, alto sax, bass, mandolin… and even the orrel that the boere play.”
He said he was born and grew up in District Six and frequently performed with the Kaapse Klopse. “I’m on the carnival board, too, so I’ve got no problems.”
These days he lives at the Salvation Army’s Beth Rogelim Men’s Home near the Waterfront.
And this reminds him of a wish. “I still play with a band – The Golden Strings… and I wish we could get back to the Waterfront. We played there for years.”
He tapped my notebook emphatically. “Write it down. Maybe you could ask them.”
In another interview in 2014, Tassiem rated High Noon as his favourite movie.
For Chitter, the answer is touchingly immediate: “Oh yes… Cinema Paradiso. It’s a beautiful movie… and that’s Mr Kraus, that’s Ludi.”
She was referring to owner Kraus’s Windhoek childhood and his father’s decision when his son was about nine to leave the men’s clothing business and open a cinema, the Alham- bra, in 1961.
Kraus recalled: “I became involved from an early age and developed a huge interest in film.”
After studying law at UCT in the early 1970s, he went into practice for 20 years – although remained interested in film throughout, and “got involved” in importing foreign languages films which he’d put on at theatres such as the Baxter and the then-Nico Malan (today’s Artscape).
When he learnt the Labia was up for sale, he decided to take the plunge.
“I left law on August 31, 1989 and the next morning I started here and I’ve been here since.”
The theatre complex – which started out as a ballroom next door to what was then the Italian embassy in the late 1930s – was opened as a performing arts venue in 1949 by Princess Ida Labia.
By the 1970s, it doubled as a theatre and cinema, a mix Kraus did not believe was successful, and he completed the transition to a cinema, focusing on screening “commercial films with artistic merit”. Over the years, the various spaces were opened up to create four screens.
A few years ago, with the aid of a crowd-funding campaign organised by patrons, the complex moved to digital technology – but has retained the feel of a traditional cinema, an atmosphere enhanced, Kraus believes, by the presence of Chitter and Tassiem and other long-standing staff who share an affection for the Labia traditions.
Today, having recently signed a long- term lease, Kraus said he was planning a range of improvements and upgrades, while retaining the “magic” of the old-style cinema experience.
“One has to keep a balance,” he said. “It’s been hard. The Labia has been a tough mistress, but it’s unique and offers a personal experience. We believe it’s important to keep the medium of film alive without having to go the way of gimmicks and effects.
“Our patrons come for that ‘magic’. We don’t need to stir and shake them in their seats.”