Alphonsus Chern catches the men who clear your movie trash in action.

THIS is war. 

With the soundtrack from "Star Wars: The Clone Wars" playing ominously in the background, I find myself running up a dimly-lit flight of stairs, my camera primed for action, ten kilos of gear swinging on my shoulder.

I'm trying to photograph the trash left behind by cinema patrons, but the moment I focus on an offending item, I see it plucked out of my viewfinder and tossed into a giant pail.

Efficiency is the name of the cinema-cleaning game, and James Tan, 54, has his team honed to perfection.

The cleaning supervisor at the cinema looks every bit the 1960s Chinese gentleman, with his gold-rimmed glasses and carefully combed hair. With his short-sleeved shirt and pants perfectly creased, he appears more bank clerk than broom-wielder.

In between movie screenings, and in impeccable Mandarin, he tells our team about the unsavoury things he has found left behind in cinemas, from a grubby pair of old shorts to stinking shoe insoles.

What do YOU leave behind?
ST Photo: Alphonsus Chern

He describes how little time he has to clear a cinema hall of trash - ten minutes, tops, from the time the credits fade and the lights come on, to when the next batch of patrons are let in by the ushers to take their seats, popcorn tubs overflowing.

Later, I pop into a theatre to watch the tail-end of a film, and sure enough, I find a beaming James standing outside the cinema when the credits begin to roll.

His team of cleaners are lined up against the wall, looking like Christmas with their green t-shirts and bright red pails.

These young men and women appear casual, even nonchalant, to the passerby, but those who watch them at work will realise that every member of his team is a highly-trained individual.

As the cinema empties, they move in, fast, like an special forces squad, quickly spreading out and taking down the trash aisle by aisle, while James, red pail in hand, directs the action from the centre aisle.

All of a sudden, there are no more cups on the seats, only showers of golden popcorn on the floor. In a flash, James switches from pail to broom.

Valiantly, I hit the ground trying to photograph him in action against Golden Popcorn, but his broom is too swift for my slow shutter in the darkness. I capture a blur of activity; red streaks of broom bristles across my screen.

I pursue him up the steps and across the aisles, trying not to trip up while following him with the camera to my eye, rushing because time is of the essence.

The ten minutes is up. Patrons for the next show begin streaming in, but the cinema is spick and span - there's not a grain of popcorn left for me to capture.

Meanwhile, the big red pails, filled to the brim with soaked tissues, popcorn buckets, cups, papers, and the odd Kentucky Fried Chicken box, are being carted out by his Men in Green.

Well, Men in Blueish-Green, anyway.
ST PHOTO: Alphonsus Chern

I take out my handkerchief and mop my brow; my shirt is soaked despite the Arctic air-conditioning. 

James' shirt and pants are still neatly creased, and there isn't even a sheen on his forehead.

He looks at me, still beaming, from a job well done.