It was 1980. I was 3. I was being taken to my first film; The Empire Strikes Back, and I remember nearly nothing about it. I only know the rough edges of details thanks to my parents telling me that it was my first cinema trip. We’d gone on a bus to the Harrow Granada (I was living in Wembley back then), and all I remember is being nestled on my dad’s lap in the darkness. I am told I slept for the majority of the film. My brother (who at this point is 8) was the real Star Wars fan. I was merely swept along by it, joining my brother in his enthusiasm, after all there was a heavy magic in the air. It was reachable, tactile, and it was everywhere you looked.
My only clear memory of seeing the film itself was waking up to see the Millennium Falcon speed out of the space worm, but I was hooked by the whole experience. Not just on Star Wars, but the adventure of sinking into the darkness and being washed over by image and sound. It was like sensory deprivation, but with regular shots of adrenalin, with an escape from whatever was happening in life. Nothing mattered for the run time. Nothing mattered at all.
But it wasn’t just the film, I became enamoured with everything. I would get excited about queuing for the exciting Butterkist, the disappointing plastic flavoured drink, the stupid programme, the local cinema adverts for curry houses (one next door to the Cannon in Watford), and that fucking Bickerton commercial that burrowed its way into my head and lives there still. It was all beautiful in its own way. All part of the exhilaration.
It was also an odd time to be a cinema goer. There was a handover happening between the grandiose past of ornate picture houses, and the cold multiplex behemoth that was coming over the hill. Cinema seats were still largely wooden, would guarantee a numb arse, and had clacky ashtrays bolted to the back. The temptation to poke fingers in was too much for most, and they’d become black and nicotine scented for the remainder of the trip. Cigarette smoke would dance in the projectionist beam, and there were lush, ostentatious curtains everywhere.
Still have a frisson of excitement when I think of looking at the “coming soon” posters, and cardboard stands as I walked through to the cinema screen. Before the internet, this was one of the only ways of knowing about forthcoming releases.
I must have been an easy child to parent, as I’d go and watch anything. My summer holidays were littered with trips, and I hold dear the memories of seeing some of the big 80s blockbusters on the big screen. The buzz of rushing out of the doors, desperate to talk about what I’d just seen. Driving my parents mad with it all. Looking at what we could next go and see. It was an obsession, it made me so happy.
I still love cinema now. I don’t mind multiplexes, and this isn’t me saying that the modern cinema experience is dead. Sometimes they can be just as exciting, though they never hold that same sense of magic. But how can they? I was a child back then. Multiplex cinemas are designed to be cookie-cutters. unmemorable. The same in Lands End as they are in John o' Groats. You go in, watch a film in a sterile setting, and then walk out, though admittedly seeing something in IMAX is a thrilling experience. But I find the older I get, the more I gravitate towards the smaller, more intimate indie cinemas dotted around. I love walking into an art-deco cinema, and snuggling in the shadows, as the lights dim.
My local cinemas are both indie cinemas, both built in the early 20th century, and both still carry the old traditions; the curtains close, and then reopen as the screen adjusts. The ceilings are packed with grandiose decorations that inspire awe. They’re a taste of old, a slice of then, and somehow make that darkness even more comfortable.
Yea. I’m old, but cinema should be revered. They should inspire, and I sometimes worry that Cineworld doesn’t.
But hopefully I’m wrong.
“Every time I go to a movie, it's magic, no matter what the movie's about” Steven Spielberg
Really nice piece John, I could certainly relate to a lot of the things about cinemas before the multiplex. My local cinema, where I saw Empire in 1980 as a double bill with Star Wars, most of the early Star Trek movies, and A View to a Kill amongst other many others, was closed down and converted into what became Scotland's Premier Nightclub for a few years in the mid to late 80s attracting all the hit DJs and celebs of the day. Nowadays it is derelict.