It’s funny, memory. The things I can’t remember could fill libraries – what I had for breakfast yesterday; the start of so many half-spoken sentences; why I entered a particular room. All evading me at the crucial moment, often not long after the idea or thought has begun. Weird, innit?
The things that I remember can often startle and amaze me. Snatches of conversations long past and clear, vivid recollections of people’s faces and names. Dates, details, and geographies of places I’ve been to only once before. Or the most intricate sensations of places I’ve been hundreds of times, but haven’t tread within for a while.
On Saturday past I found myself pushing past the crowds – yes, crowds – on Aberdeen’s Belmont Street to pop into Belmont Cinema, which had opened its doors to the public for the first time since its closure as part of Doors Open Day and the Big Belmont Street Bash, organised by Collective on The Cobbles.
Most people likely had a different experience to the one I did. Them as visitors to somewhere they may have been visitors before, or maybe for the first time; me as a former long-standing employee of the Belmont in its various guises down the years.
It’s strange how 15 years of habit slip on like a comfortable autumn coat even after nearly 2 years away. ‘Is it weird to be here?’, I was asked. The answer is ‘no’. It felt immediately familiar.
I’d forgotten I’d decided to fill the foyer with large plastic plants in a fit of post-pandemic vibe chasing. I’d forgotten the kiosk was quite that small on the inside. But there it was; the bones of the place, just as I knew it.
Like I said, it’s a funny thing, memory. This week I’ve found Oasis lyrics I haven’t heard in nearly 25 years still slide softly into the melodies, whispered along by my mouth. It’s all still in there somewhere, even if I can’t remember what I had for dinner last night.
At the Belmont Cinema on Saturday I found myself immediately able to find light switches in the dark, where I still sometimes struggle in my house where I’ve lived for nearly a year. I found myself able to instantly thumb in keycodes for doors, long since opened. I know exactly where I have to step in narrow projection booths, to avoid jamming ends of benches against my hips, and to slide around film platters.
Instances where the hands remember, even if the mind cannae quite grasp the details. And the silliest thing pushing me to bouts and waves of nostalgia. People, being there – sitting in the foyer on sofas that have been empty too long, watching the story of the Belmont Community Cinema on the big screen; almost smelling the popcorn.
Cinema is inherently nostalgic. It flickers like memory. Actors ingrained in time forever to be how they were. Even when it’s new it has something of the old about it.
Belmont Community Cinema will therefore I think be in the spirit of the art itself – the audiences and the building formed in the past. But the plans and designs for the cinema look boldly forward. They are beautiful, bright and impressive. They are more than a lick of paint.
My memory perhaps glossed over how in need of a refit Belmont had been, for years, before the closure. The seating covers are baggy, the decor outdated and the layout imperfect. Unfortunately we’re often blind to these things when fresh perspectives are hard to come by.
Once funding is raised work will allow Belmont Cinema to go from well-worn to kitted out. 1,500 visitors over Doors Open Day weekend suggests that there are plenty of folk out there who miss it, and who will be willing to be part of its future successes.
A city which has such a sparkling history of cinema, peppered throughout the silver streets and dug deep into Granite facades, deserves to have its independent cinema back.
With the doors open, hopefully permanently on the next occasion, Belmont Street will once again have an indoor venue that beautifully complements the beginnings of outdoor cafe culture that were evident over the weekend. The town centre was bustling for a change, and full of life.
Our collective nostalgia for Belmont Cinema isn’t buried very far. Once reopened and run coherently for the community, our old habits will help us find our way back there too. Comfortably sitting, watching films, in a fresh environment that is more familiar to us all that we may even remember.
Colin Farquhar works as a creative spaces manager and film programmer in the north-east culture sector
Conversation