In cinematic chambers our self is erased. We become the worshiping eye, the seer of god. The mind is present in the same chamber, but as a phantom, with a parallel existence. What the eye sees is not what the mind thinks. There is some lag, some cloudy glass separating the two perceptive organs.
It is not immersion into fantasy as much as effacement of self and emergence into otherness. We float and we float, becoming astronauts exploring cinematic space, and only a thin tube of something, perhaps memory, connects our eye to our body folded into our seat.