I'm a lush for the plush in cinematic experience. I mean is it even really a cinema if the seats are not covered in red velvet? All mainstream chains take note as you re vamp your screens, with large vinyl covered seats and vinyl flooring. There is something fundamental about going to the movies that they have failed to take into account. The magic.
The heart of cinema is pure magic. The swish of the curtain, the dimming to darkness of the lights, the hush that falls across the audience as the screen comes to life with another dimension, another view to this world or worlds imagined. We are transported
My first visit to a cinema couldn't have been more epic. It was the Odeon Astoria in Finsbury Park. This cathedral of picture houses is now a church which couldn't be a more fitting end for this glorious building. My early expectations were set very high I know and I search everywhere for cinemas that live up to them.
My local cinema growing up was the Odeon Dalston, I remember it well. It was a one screen cinema back then as they all were. You queued outside, especially in the summer holidays when it was a special treat to see the latest Disney film. It was a day out for us, my mum would pack a bag full of sweets and treats and we would dress in our best and then walk 5 minutes to the corner and queue for half an hour to get in. The one screen was enormous back then and much like the theatre, you either sat downstairs in the stalls or upstairs in the circle. You also got two films for your money. The main showing and some random film you had never heard of, the B movie. Sometimes the B movies were really good but sometimes they would show the B movie first and that was just tiresome as all you really wanted to see was Aristocats or Black Beauty (which came with Yellow Submarine as I recall)
The upstairs foyer was a large expanse of deep cherry red carpet with some sofa type seating, the usherette in her smart uniform would show us to our seats, I was in a red velvet heaven.
When they demolished the Dalston Odeon it was one of the saddest things I have seen, it lay cracked wide open with daylight flooding the cavernous interior. It was like the hull of a sunken ship, or worse than that, the body of a whale, it was awful. It really seemed to me that a death had occurred then to add insult to injury on the graveyard of my velvet dreams Barrats built some dreadful little boxes.
Fast forward to today, fresh out of lockdown I'm at Selfridges and oh my darlings it is lush and plush. Tucked away in the basement of this glorious monolith is a sparkly cinema. The frontage is all red velvet and blazing light bulbs and my heart does a little skip before I go inside. The staff are wearing uniforms that remind me of Thunderbirds, they are polite and welcoming with red lipstick smiles that show off their perfect white teeth. There is a twinkly cocktail bar and a twinkly eyed barman who asks us to try his latest concoction which I accept. (I am happy to assist any artist in the honing of their craft if I am able)
The largest screen seats 70 and the smallest seats 28 but isn't cramped at all and the rows of seats curve round to echo the screen. There is a little round table for us to put our cocktails on and it all feels immensely chic. I would like to keep it all for myself but I realise that if no one else went it would have to close. So I'm sharing my secret with you.
