Years ago, during a monthly farmers market in Florianópolis (Brazil) called Ratonarte, I somehow ended up running a tiny movie theater for kids. We called it Cine Ratones – The Biggest Smallest Cinema in Town. Very accurate name, honestly.

I suggested we could screen a few short films for kids, and the organizers immediately gave me a spare room in a nearby building. So for almost two years, once a month, I transformed that room into a “cinema”: a projector, a handful of plastic chairs, and a white bedsheet glued to the wall as the screen (peak engineering). Leandra was the popcorn lady, giving out free popcorn, of course.

This fair was held in a kind of countryside neighborhood. Some kids had never been to a movie theater, so it was interesting to see their reactions. To me, the cinema was just a regular room, but for them, it was a special moment.

One day, in the middle of a story, the screen started peeling off. Slowly. Dramatically. I saw the bedsheet collapsing in cinematic slow motion. I sprinted forward and grabbed it before it fell.

And then I just… stayed there. Holding the screen with both hands for the last ten minutes, pretending absolutely everything was fine.

A room full of kids kept watching like this was part of the plot. And maybe it was.

Cine Ratones: the biggest smallest cinema, powered entirely by a bedsheet and pure improvisation.