The Garden of the Unmoving Film Projector

I am following a path that winds downhill and up a stone wall. The wall is overgrown with ivy and a film projector is half-buried in the foliage, its lens facing down. I reach for it. My fingers pass through the metal body of the machine. A door opens onto another door behind me. The room below the path is dark and empty, except for the open mouths of a couple of movie posters on the wall. One poster shows me with an uncanny resemblance, but the eyes are wrong.

I sit down near the doorways. A light comes through one of them, casting shadows. The light makes the stone wall feel like wood. I stand and look at it. The wall is not solid. There is a door within it. The light comes from above.