The Perfect Film to Reopen Filmhouse (And How I Accidentally Programmed It)

The Perfect Film to Reopen Filmhouse

Today sees the long awaited reopening of Filmhouse, Edinburgh’s long-standing arthouse cinema that abruptly closed in October 2022 after the vaulting ambiton of its hubris loaded then management led to financial collapse. Filmhouse first opened its doors in its former church building home on Lothian Road in 1979, with what became Filmhouse 1 opening six years later. It quickly became a mecca of international and non-mainstream cinema, and was the home of Edinburgh International Film Festival. In what was then a four TV channel UK where it could take up to five years for a film to be screened, Filmhouse was a lifeline.

In the late 1980s and early 1990s I spent much of my unemployed life at Filmhouse. If you had a dole card, afternoon screenings cost just 50p, making this gateway to all the films that up until then I could only read about affordable even to the likes of me. New non-blockbuster releases too were programmed, opening up worlds of international festival prize-winners and blink-and-you’ll-miss-'em obscurities as well as vintage classics.

One of the former was Cinema Paradiso. This was the then 32-year-old Italian director Giuseppe Tornatore’s love letter to cinema seen through the eyes of Salvatore, a successful filmmaker who makes a prodigal’s return to the Sicilian village he grew up in for the funeral of his local fleapit’s projectionist, Alfredo. This sees the film flashback to Salvatore’s childhood and the beginning of his own love affair with film as he spies on Alfredo, who is tasked by the local priest who owns the cinema to cut out any kissing scenes. As he grows into his teens, Salvatore’s interest in film develops into something more professional, and Alfredo becomes his mentor.

What follows in this epic rites of passage is a thing of beauty, charm and wonder that puts the collective experience of film at its heart. With Alfredo played by Philippe Noiret, and Salvatore at various points by Jacques Perrin (adult), Marco Leonardi (teenager) and, wonderfully, Salvatore Cascio (child), the film’s emotional pulse is driven by an aching score from Ennio Morricone and his son Andrea. The film’s climax comes with a scene that would melt the hardest of hearts.

One afternoon in the summer of 1990, I remember walking up Lothian Road after a 50p matinee of Cinema Paradiso with tears streaming down my face. As I attempted to ward off the impact of the film to the person I was with, I pompously and ridiculously declared how it had been the most emotionally manipulative film I’d ever seen. We were young and stupid, and thought we were above that sort of thing. How wrong we were.

Fast-forward three and a half decades, and a devoted band of volunteers and former Filmhouse staffers have worked tirelessly to get Filmhouse reopened. Warding off developers and chatting up potential funders, the group has navigated their way around various hurdles to make Filmhouse a going concern once more and put it back at the heart of Edinburgh’s cultural life, even if it does cost a few bob more than 50p these days.

Cut to December 2024, and a bunch of ageing roués and fellow travelers are gathered in a hostelry at the top of Leith Walk for a significant birthday of one Andrew Tully, erudite educator par excellence and former co-frontperson of C-86 cult figures Jesse Garon & the Desperadoes and Rote Kapelle.

Also in attendance is Rod White, programme director of Filmhouse, and someone who has been in with the bricks of the place for many years. I don’t really know Rod, though he’s good mates with Andrew, Paul Hutton and others out that night. Rod, I know, is also one of those intent on bringing Filmhouse back to life. I can’t remember if a date had been set by then, but it was definitely going to reopen, and was an obvious subject of conversation. I go to the bar, where Rod and Paul are talking intently. Paul turns to me as I’m trying to order.

“What film would you have on to reopen Filmhouse?” he asks.

I think for a second, my mind flicking at rapid speed through a lifetime of misspent afternoons in dark rooms before alighting on that summer matinee 35 years ago.

It seems like such an obvious choice once I say it. Amongst all the other suggestions of much loved classics, I’m amazed nobody’s mentioned it before now. As the collective penny drops around the bar among those who know the film, however, how could it be anything else?

This is why Filmhouse 1 will reopen to the public today for the first time in over two and a half years with three back to back screenings of Cinema Paradiso. I’m obviously delighted, even if I didn’t manage to get a ticket for any of them before they quickly sold out. Given everything Tornatore’s film is about, it’s such a no-brainer to show it that I’m sure plenty of people in the Filmhouse team probably thought of it as well. Having said that, I’m also happy to take the credit for it, even if I won’t get to see it this weekend. Maybe they’ll do me a blue plaque instead.

I hope, however, the revitalised Filmhouse shows Cinema Paradiso again at some point. It’s too big a film to watch on my laptop. As the title suggests, it requires a proper cinema screen to do it justice. Thirty-five years on as well, and with mentors of my own who aren’t around anymore, I reckon I’ll need the big dark room of Filmhouse 1 to hide in.

If it ever happens, I look forward to walking down Lothian Road afterwards once more, just like those who see it today, with tears streaming down my face, having gone willingly to be emotionally manipulated, reveling in every second of heartbreak, humanity and joy.

Cinema Paradiso, Screen 1, Filmhouse, Edinburgh, June 27, 12 noon; 2.45pm and 5.30pm. All screenings sold out. Filmhouse’s current programme - https://www.filmhouse.org.uk/home/

Image of Filmhouse 1 by Kat Gollock. Used care of Filmhouse.