Preamble

Well, this is one for the books. Not only do I think I’ve beaten my record of time between posts (nearly 6 weeks), but I have returned with a top-five piece. Will wonders never cease! But in all seriousness, 2025 has come in waves for me, whether it’s personal issues or things I have seemingly lost. The one-two punch of the possible closure of my favourite cinema and the loss of David Lynch has devasted me beyond belief. But in solidarity with the Prince Charles Cinema, I want to share some of my favourite memories from visiting over the years. It’s a place that’s meant a lot to me. And from filmmakers Quentin Tarantino to Robert Eggers, it’s a much-venerated venue for film buffs across the world. If you’re interested, I’ve linked the petition to save the cinema below. Please sign if you have time.

Top Five

5) A Sunday screening of The Last Exorcism

Compared to other memories on this list, this one seems quite humble. Perhaps it was the lack of people at my screening or the fact that the found footage horror effort seemed grander on the cinema’s second screen, but I remember feeling a great amount of comfort in watching this on a lazy Sunday morning. It just goes to show how much time and place can morph or even elevate a seemingly mundane movie-going experience.

4) A packed screening of The Irishman

Netflix films that have a limited-week theatrical release feel like a new form of event cinema. And The Irishman was no exception. Playing to a near sold-out crowd on their downstairs screen, The Irishman was the closest I’ve felt to a moviegoing pantomime experience. There was almost a collective union of gasps and guffaws at any instance of violence or swearing. But it never felt like the crowd was laughing at the film. Instead, their reaction was akin to the same enjoyment that you would expect from a midnight tentpole movie. And that’s frankly quite special.

3) A 35mm screening of Alien

The most quirky detail I can remember from this screening is a notice on the concession stand that warned of the slight damage to the print of Alien. As a result, the first 10 minutes had a slight pink hue that crept into the film’s lighting. But that did not dissuade me. If anything, this screening of Alien reinforced just how much a movie can be special on the big screen. At that point, the film had seeped into my soul based on how much I had watched and studied it. But for those 2 hours in the heart of London’s West End, I felt as though I was seeing the film for the very first time again (pink hue and all).

2) A 70mm screening of 2001: A Space Odyssey

At this point, it feels as though seeing 2001 on the big screen is a rite of passage for any budding film enthusiast. But to see it on 70mm was even more special. For context, this version was the unrestored version before Christopher Nolan supervised a restoration in 2018. Aside from being bawled over by Kubrick’s imagery, my prevailing memory of this screening was a person I had befriended at the screening. They had not seen it and when it came to asking their thoughts at the interval, they seemed dazed and amazed by what they had seen. The only words they could muster in this seemingly spellbound state were “so much to process.” In almost real-time, the screening was a testament to how much 2001 can beguile an entirely new set of audience, which speaks to its power as a showcase for the medium.

1) A screening of Piccadilly

I’ll try not to repeat myself since this movie has been discussed in my top five moviegoing experiences. But suffice to say, Piccadilly had opened my eyes to the sheer power of silent cinema. At that point, I had engaged with that period of film history through German Expressionist pictures. But seeing Piccadilly made me feel as though I had been viewing that period of cinema through a small keyhole. It was alive, vibrant and full of pathos. In reflecting on the screening, I think there was something also heartening in seeing a depiction of a place down the road (Piccadilly) during an earlier point in time.

In that sense, it reminds me of a quote from Babylon when the writer Elinor St. John says to fading actor, Jack Conrad- “A child born in 50 years will stumble across your image flickering on a screen and feel he knows, like…like a friend.” That speech reminds me of the immorality of film and how it can be used as a means to view a certain place in a new light, even if it was from several generations ago.