Bryan Begins: My Origin Story

Originally featured in Cynic Critique: Zine Machine Issue #1, Bryan Begins is the origin story behind Resonance Ronin—a personal journey through film, life, and the search for what truly resonates beyond the noise. This piece lays the groundwork for the stories and voices you’ll find here in Scrolls and beyond.

 My first movie experience was when I was five years old—Batman Forever.

I’d already been a Batman nut since I was two. I watched Burton’s 1989 Batman on a VHS taped off the TV. My mum had no idea how dark it was; she only knew Keaton from his funny roles, and Batman from the colourful ’66 show she grew up with. But I fell in love with it. I watched it every day.

By age three, I had to be shown how to use the VHS recorder so I could tape episodes of Batman: The Animated Series every weekend and rewatch them through the week. One Christmas, I was gifted Batman Returns on VHS (I still have those tapes). I watched those two films religiously.

So when the trailers hit TV for Batman Forever, I wouldn’t shut up about it. I was quoting it, reenacting scenes with my toys. I was obsessed.

One Friday evening during the summer holidays, my dad came home from work, we had tea, and then—surprise—we went out. My little brother, almost two, was dropped off at the grandparents. A short drive later, we were in a car park. Then we walked.

Two big doors. Posters at each side. One of them was Batman Forever.

It hit me—this was it. My first cinema trip.

We entered. Dim lighting. That warm, strange smell I’d later learn was popcorn. At the counter, I was handed a bucket of the stuff the size of my head. Lightweight, like magic for its size.

We went up a narrow, dimly lit staircase, where the smell of cigarettes still clung to the walls. Then down a long corridor to a numbered door—maybe 4. Let’s say 4. It’s a good number.

Red seats. Rows of them. A room filled with people, all facing curtains that glowed softly.

I sat between my parents, five rows from the front, centre. They explained:

“This is the new Batman film. You can’t talk during it, unless it’s for the toilet or if something’s scary.”

Still from Batman Forever, the film that ignited a lifelong cinematic obsession — Batman standing as both icon and origin story.

Then the curtains pulled back.

Adverts. Trailers I don’t remember. And then… the film.

I wish I could’ve seen my face. The screen felt incomprehensibly big. I was hooked—quiet, still, entranced. Even the cigarette smoke from the smoking section didn’t register.

I didn’t want it to end. I wanted to see it again—this time with my brother.

When I finally got the VHS at Christmas, it was one of the best days of my young life.

To this day, I still love that film. And Batman. And cinema. It’s all part of my DNA now. Without that passion, I don’t know who I’d be. It keeps me ticking. The magic of experiencing new stories, strange worlds, and unexpected emotions—it’s why I keep showing up.

The cinema I saw it in? The Majestic. And for me, it was majestic. It was the last of five cinemas in my town. Closed around 2004. Replaced by a multiplex. The old building was torn down, eventually replaced by flats or a care home—I'm not sure.

But when it still stood, I used to walk past it and smile. Remembering every moment it gave me.

Film. Fiction. That’s my religion. The cinema is my little church of escapism.

I just wish I’d kept all my tickets. I would’ve scrapbooked them. I really would’ve.

If you enjoyed this piece, explore more in Cynic Critique: Zine Machine, a digital zine available free, with optional donations via the https://ko-fi.com/bryfromcc/shop or the Zine tab on this site.

Thanks for joining me on this resonance-driven path.