Half an hour before the first film in eight months begins, Karlheinz Werich-Opitz opens the glass double doors of his cinema.

“Come on in, even if we're not quite finished yet,” he says to the woman who is waiting there with her son in the drizzle.

Inside there is a cleaning bucket next to the stand with the red cord, an employee is filling a glass with foamed strawberries behind the counter.

Leonie Feuerbach

Editor in Frankfurter Allgemeine Magazin.

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    Opitz, in his early 50s, glasses and ponytail, got up at five in the morning on this big day. At 6.30 a.m. he was in his cinema, the Eva-Lichtspiele in Berlin-Wilmersdorf. He uploaded a couple of films to the server, drove to the metro to buy sweets - they had all expired - then went back, marking places where nobody was allowed to sit because of the distance rules. Then he rang the doorbell of the neighbors, who he suspected that the courier service had left the suitcases with the rolls of film during the months it was closed.

    At twelve noon, one hour before the first screening, Opitz sits in his tiny office, crammed between a microwave, a photocopier and rolls of tear-off paper cards that say “unit price”.

    A kettle, a coffee maker, two telephones.

    One of them rings.

    “The Eva-Lichtspiele.

    - Once in what name?

    - Sunday 5.45pm is fine.

    - I'm not there, but you will see other nice people!

    - Listen up. ”Apparently his guests missed Opitz.

    It is clearly uncomfortable for him.

    Popcorn is still available here for two euros

    His cinema has been around since 1912 or 1913, you don't really know. The curved neon lettering on the facade from the post-war period is still original. There are no electronic reservations at Eva, the small popcorn costs two euros here. Opitz sees no reason to change anything. It works, normally when no virus paralyzes the world and Wilmersdorf too. Even during the two world wars, the Eva was only closed for a few days at a time. Now there were 240. No wonder Opitz is a little nervous today.

    He is now looking highly concentrated at his laptop, which is running a new program that he is trying out for the first time that day.

    “One hour 56. Should be right.

    Save. ”He gets up and goes from the office to the cinema, humming nervously.

    In fact: “Indiefilm” is now on the screen.

    Opitz runs back into the office, now whistling, which sounds more confident than the humming.

    Shortly before one, five spectators sit in "Shaun the Sheep".

    Not many for the fact that there are already school holidays in Berlin, plus only 16 degrees and rain;

    best cinema-dirty weather so.

    A mother and her son take selfies, the hall, which is clad in red panels, is filled with blues music and the crackling of bags of chips.

    At 1:01 p.m. the gong sounds and the lush golden velvet curtain rises.