Last month Alan Simmons shared the magic that is the Secret Cinema. Top secret showings of classic movies in cool places. Here is his report on the latest screening. Sounds amazing.
I recently attended the latest and largest offering from Secret Cinema. Gaining renown for screening classic films in unforgettable surroundings, the secret is no longer that it exists but more what the film shown will actually be. In the run up to the event I was sent a mysterious email that told me to be at Alexandra Palace Rail Station at 6pm, to dress as a Bedouin and to bring a cushion and something to barter with.
So, on Friday evening I debarked from the 17:31 to Welwyn Garden City, dressed in one of Primark’s best black, single bed sheets for robes and a black and white checked tea towel as a head dress. I also had a sleeping bag slung over one shoulder and a copy of In Loving Memory on Blu-Ray for bartering purposes. I was ready.
Ascending the steps of Alexandra Palace Station I was quickly enveloped by four thousand, eight hundred and fifty other excited and bed sheet bedecked souls. Following the procession down a path to the left and through some trees I was instantly transported to Arabia via Muswell Hill.
Mysterious men with hidden faces, swords and cartridge belts at first eyed us with suspicion, but as we delved deeper down the footpath and into the mock Arabian wilderness we appeared to have been welcomed into the uprising. Our Bedouin brothers began to approach us, inquiring how far we had travelled and which tribe we belonged to. A two man band played a drum and lute as we walked between a group of goat herders. Turning a corner we were greeted by actual, real life camels. Two of them. As we all cooed and moved in for a stroke, I began to become aware of the marginal British military presence. Portly gentlemen in pith helmets sneered at us, while other, younger soldiers ran past our ranks warning us of the savages ahead.
Walking through more trees, things seemed to go quiet. Too quiet. At first barely audible, a shell-shocked soldier hid behind the Pitch n Putt course’s fence and began to rant and rave about the horrors he had seen, before making a break for it – vaulting the fence and bolting into the woods.
The path twisted again and opened up into an open area of long grass. Wild eyed men on horse back screamed rallying calls to their brethren and galloped through the pretend prairie with their rifles held defiantly aloft. Reaching the other side of the field we appeared to have reached our final destination. A camp, consisting of tents and the flags of the various tribes, had been set up and people had begun to sit and huddle together on the hill in front of Alexandra Palace. But we weren’t finished yet. A swarthy gentleman on horseback raised his sword, and as it caught the sun and appeared to be on fire he issued the rallying call for us all to come together and storm the palace. The assembled masses charged up the hill towards the steps, the traffic was halted and we were up and in – the palace was ours.
Once inside, things were much calmer but just as effort and detail ridden. A British officer stamped my hand and pointed me down a long corridor with an incredibly high ceiling and row after row of very British clerks who wanted to take down our particulars. Exiting this corridor I found myself in an enormous room full of palm trees, pool tables and a bar – the Officer’s Mess.
My adventure then led me through double doors, flanked by large security guys wearing fezzes, and into a labyrinthine bazaar. Street merchants and stall holders hawked their wares as I slipped between booths and plonked myself down before a band and belly dancer enthusiastically grinding and shimmying her way across a small stage. After kicking back and enjoying the show for a couple of numbers, an Arabian elder appeared on stage and commanded us to make our way to the Great Hall for more entertainment.
Sleeping bag in hand, I stopped gawking at the vastness of the room just long enough to arrange said bag into a comfy square and settle down. Once everyone else had done the same more tribal leaders appeared amongst us and began to argue. Their bickering was stopped by the arrival of T.E. Lawrence on the back of a large, beige camel. As well as ending their quarrel he also ended any speculation as to what tonight’s feature would be – the 1962 classic Lawrence of Arabia. “Our” Lawrence appeared to be making a passionate speech, but unfortunately his mic wasn’t working so I didn’t hear a word. The audio hiccups didn’t stop there. Perhaps due to the size and nature of the hall, once the feature began I found it very difficult to make out the dialogue in David Lean’s epic. That epicness was my other problem, and a quick Google confirmed it. Clocking in at over 200 minutes long, there was no way I was going to be able to stay for the whole shebang and be able to get home via trains and tubes. So, disappointingly, after enjoying the film up until the intermission I had to bail early.
While journeying back I flicked through my photographs and couldn’t quite believe the stunning amount of planning and detail that had gone into the evening’s festivities. The run up to the screening was absolutely dazzling, it was just a tremendous shame that the audio and the finishing time let the side down.
You can find more information on the Secret Cinema here.
