Opening article from the London Illustrated news.
The four-in-one house THERE MAY, FOR ONCE, BE A GRAIN OF truth in the stale public relations boast that the opening of Cinecenta (Britain’s first “four-in-one cinema, situated in Panton Street, just off Leicester Square) marks the onset of a quiet revolution in our filmgoing habits. Cinecenta does seem like an encouragingly realistic experiment in the light of the three most well-known facts about the industry in this country: that most of our cinemas are far too large; that public attendances at these cinemas continue to decrease every year; and that more films are being made than ever before, both here and abroad, a large proportion of which are never available for the potential moviegoer to enjoy. Cinecenta is a complex of four fairly intimate theatres, each with a seating capacity of only 150, which, between them, will exhibit some 30 new pictures in the course of 1969. Plans are in hand to develop similar centres in 15 or so locations throughout Britain as well as in other parts of London. They will not be art houses, and their products will be drawn from a number of international sources including Denmark, Germany, Japan, Sweden, and France. The fact that the first four choices at the West End Cinecenta—one British, one French, and two Swedish —all bear an X Certificate strikes me as coincidence rather than an actual reflection of the company’s policy: of these four, only one, The Sinning Urge, directed by Hans Abramson might be thought to fall into the category of just another sex film. Far and away the best work currently on show at Cinecenta is Jan Troell’s Who Saw Him Die? (Swedish title: Ole Doll Doff) which won the Golden Bear award at the Berlin Festival last year. Per Oscarsson, looking like a Swedish Tom Courtenay, is Martensson, a neurotic but well-intentioned schoolmaster, tortured by his rebellious adolescent pupils, by an unhappy wife (Kerstin Tidelius), and, above all, by his own feelings of impotence and self-doubt. The style of the film is deceptively inconsequential; the grainy black and white photography conceals an awareness of a man and his crumbling mental capacities that is almost unbearable in its realism. I hope it would not be reading too much into Jan Troell’s intentions to say that Martensson is presented as an archetype of a modern Scandinavian, even of a modern western man. He hates and fears, yet respects, the grimy technology he sees all around him; lusts, by contrast, after the fresh faces of girls he sees in fashion magazines; enjoys a brief, sexless respite with a female colleague who feels sorry for him; feels his energies and early ambitions sapping away; despises himself for the platitudes he is obliged to mouth to his unruly class. At the end he dies, trying to save a pupil from drowning—at least, one assumes that he dies. What has been the point of his life? I shall be surprised if a more depressing, truthful, and thoroughly brilliant film is shown at Cinecenta this year. The British offering Wonderwall, directed by Joe Massot, by contrast, is groovy, colourful, and rather slight. An eccentric old professor (Jack MacGowran) enjoys watching a pretty model girl (Jane Birkin) through a hole in his wall, and when you’ve said that you’ve practically said it all. This profound comment on the voyeuristic appetites of the male species is padded out to 93 minutes running time by some inventive, psychedelic photography, and by guest appearances, in the best tradition of British film comedy, by those old stalwarts, Richard Wattis and Irene Handl. I enjoyed, as much as anything, George Harrison’s weird, evocative score (yes, that George Harrison) and, if I’m honest, the many beautifully composed shots of Miss Birkin’s body modelling and making love. As a film Wonderwall is quite enjoyable for pure visual experience; as a story it is slow to the point of not even getting off the ground, and leaves one with a strong feeling of regret that for their first production Alan Clore Films have not been able to devote their considerable resources to something more substantial. The French have come up with Les Biches, (“ The Wantons ”), in which Jean- Louis Trintignant, the heart-throb of Un Homme et Une Femme, seduces two women, a young, poor one (Jaqueline Sassard) and an older, rich one (Stephane Audran) and, since he is unable to make up his mind about either and since they are devoted to each other anyway, an idyllic menage a trois develops in off-season St Tropez. The idyll does not last and the film ends in recrimination and murder. It is worth visiting Cinecenta to enjoy Jean Rabiera’s superb colour photography. Director: Claude Chabrol. At Academy Cinema Two there is an interesting Hungaro-Russian co-production, The Red and the White, directed by Miklos Jancso and shot in Russia on the occasion of the 50th anniversary of the October Revolution. It is set in the early period of the Russian Civil War that followed that Revolution: fighting on the side of the Red forces is so-called Internationalist Unit, formed from among Hungarian prisoners of war, and it is through their eyes that we follow the inhuman, fratricidal struggle between the troops of the Revolution and the White, counter-revolutionary armies. It is a confusing near-masterpiece—it never for one moment becomes clear from the subtitles who is Red and who is White dramatic but not particularly moving, full of beauty and horror, with an oddly empty, spacious, timeless quality about it. Some of Tamas Somlo’s photographic work is utterly haunting: there is a shot of some nurses, dressed as Tsarist ladies for the benefit of the White officers, walking through a wood of silver birch, which will remain with me long after the film’s more direct impact has faded. Revivals: Hitchcock’s The Birds (Classic, Baker Street, January 19 -25); Rod Steiger in The Pawnbroker (Classic, Chelsea, January 19-25); Chabrol’s B/«e/)eorr/(same cinema, January2o-24 late shows);Orson Welles in Macbeth (Classic, Hampstead, January 22 only); The Graduate (Classic, Hampstead, January 19-24, except 22nd); (Classic, Kilburn, January 19-25); Terence Stamp, Monica Vitti in Modesty Blaise (Classic, Netting Hill Gate, January 19-25); Gorki trilogy part I: The Childhood of Maxim Gorki (Everyman, Hampstead, January 20-February 2); Cukor’s The Chapman Report (National Film Theatre, January 20 6,15 and 8.30).
Grand opening ad posted.
Grand opening ads posted.
Grand opening ad as empire Two on November 9th, 1972 posted. It opened with “Kansas City Bomber”
Grand opening ad posted.
Grand opening ad posted.
Grand opening ad with the Looney Tunes posted.
Grand opening ad posted
Two grand opening ads posted.
Grand opening ad for the Circlorama posted.
November 4th, 1934 grand opening ad as Montseigner News Theatre posted.
July 24th, 2015 article
Odeon Kensington demolition 24 Jul 2015, Fri Evening Standard (London, Greater London, England) Newspapers.com
April 23rd, 1976 grand opening ad posted.
Grand opening ad posted.
Placed its 1st ad as Gallery Cinemas Slough on May 3rd, 1989. The logo is the same as Cineplex Odeon.
Also uploaded the March 6th, 1936 grand opening ad.
Grand opening ad posted
September 27th, 1954 grand opening ad as Casino Cinerama posted.
Grand opening ad (feature article) posted.
Also uploaded the October 11th, 1991 ad as well.
Odeon Leicester Square theater opening from December 12th, 1968
Leichester square theatre opening 11 Dec 1968, Wed Evening Standard (London, Greater London, England) Newspapers.com
November 22nd, 1985 grand opening ad posted.
Opening article from the London Illustrated news. The four-in-one house THERE MAY, FOR ONCE, BE A GRAIN OF truth in the stale public relations boast that the opening of Cinecenta (Britain’s first “four-in-one cinema, situated in Panton Street, just off Leicester Square) marks the onset of a quiet revolution in our filmgoing habits. Cinecenta does seem like an encouragingly realistic experiment in the light of the three most well-known facts about the industry in this country: that most of our cinemas are far too large; that public attendances at these cinemas continue to decrease every year; and that more films are being made than ever before, both here and abroad, a large proportion of which are never available for the potential moviegoer to enjoy. Cinecenta is a complex of four fairly intimate theatres, each with a seating capacity of only 150, which, between them, will exhibit some 30 new pictures in the course of 1969. Plans are in hand to develop similar centres in 15 or so locations throughout Britain as well as in other parts of London. They will not be art houses, and their products will be drawn from a number of international sources including Denmark, Germany, Japan, Sweden, and France. The fact that the first four choices at the West End Cinecenta—one British, one French, and two Swedish —all bear an X Certificate strikes me as coincidence rather than an actual reflection of the company’s policy: of these four, only one, The Sinning Urge, directed by Hans Abramson might be thought to fall into the category of just another sex film. Far and away the best work currently on show at Cinecenta is Jan Troell’s Who Saw Him Die? (Swedish title: Ole Doll Doff) which won the Golden Bear award at the Berlin Festival last year. Per Oscarsson, looking like a Swedish Tom Courtenay, is Martensson, a neurotic but well-intentioned schoolmaster, tortured by his rebellious adolescent pupils, by an unhappy wife (Kerstin Tidelius), and, above all, by his own feelings of impotence and self-doubt. The style of the film is deceptively inconsequential; the grainy black and white photography conceals an awareness of a man and his crumbling mental capacities that is almost unbearable in its realism. I hope it would not be reading too much into Jan Troell’s intentions to say that Martensson is presented as an archetype of a modern Scandinavian, even of a modern western man. He hates and fears, yet respects, the grimy technology he sees all around him; lusts, by contrast, after the fresh faces of girls he sees in fashion magazines; enjoys a brief, sexless respite with a female colleague who feels sorry for him; feels his energies and early ambitions sapping away; despises himself for the platitudes he is obliged to mouth to his unruly class. At the end he dies, trying to save a pupil from drowning—at least, one assumes that he dies. What has been the point of his life? I shall be surprised if a more depressing, truthful, and thoroughly brilliant film is shown at Cinecenta this year. The British offering Wonderwall, directed by Joe Massot, by contrast, is groovy, colourful, and rather slight. An eccentric old professor (Jack MacGowran) enjoys watching a pretty model girl (Jane Birkin) through a hole in his wall, and when you’ve said that you’ve practically said it all. This profound comment on the voyeuristic appetites of the male species is padded out to 93 minutes running time by some inventive, psychedelic photography, and by guest appearances, in the best tradition of British film comedy, by those old stalwarts, Richard Wattis and Irene Handl. I enjoyed, as much as anything, George Harrison’s weird, evocative score (yes, that George Harrison) and, if I’m honest, the many beautifully composed shots of Miss Birkin’s body modelling and making love. As a film Wonderwall is quite enjoyable for pure visual experience; as a story it is slow to the point of not even getting off the ground, and leaves one with a strong feeling of regret that for their first production Alan Clore Films have not been able to devote their considerable resources to something more substantial. The French have come up with Les Biches, (“ The Wantons ”), in which Jean- Louis Trintignant, the heart-throb of Un Homme et Une Femme, seduces two women, a young, poor one (Jaqueline Sassard) and an older, rich one (Stephane Audran) and, since he is unable to make up his mind about either and since they are devoted to each other anyway, an idyllic menage a trois develops in off-season St Tropez. The idyll does not last and the film ends in recrimination and murder. It is worth visiting Cinecenta to enjoy Jean Rabiera’s superb colour photography. Director: Claude Chabrol. At Academy Cinema Two there is an interesting Hungaro-Russian co-production, The Red and the White, directed by Miklos Jancso and shot in Russia on the occasion of the 50th anniversary of the October Revolution. It is set in the early period of the Russian Civil War that followed that Revolution: fighting on the side of the Red forces is so-called Internationalist Unit, formed from among Hungarian prisoners of war, and it is through their eyes that we follow the inhuman, fratricidal struggle between the troops of the Revolution and the White, counter-revolutionary armies. It is a confusing near-masterpiece—it never for one moment becomes clear from the subtitles who is Red and who is White dramatic but not particularly moving, full of beauty and horror, with an oddly empty, spacious, timeless quality about it. Some of Tamas Somlo’s photographic work is utterly haunting: there is a shot of some nurses, dressed as Tsarist ladies for the benefit of the White officers, walking through a wood of silver birch, which will remain with me long after the film’s more direct impact has faded. Revivals: Hitchcock’s The Birds (Classic, Baker Street, January 19 -25); Rod Steiger in The Pawnbroker (Classic, Chelsea, January 19-25); Chabrol’s B/«e/)eorr/(same cinema, January2o-24 late shows);Orson Welles in Macbeth (Classic, Hampstead, January 22 only); The Graduate (Classic, Hampstead, January 19-24, except 22nd); (Classic, Kilburn, January 19-25); Terence Stamp, Monica Vitti in Modesty Blaise (Classic, Netting Hill Gate, January 19-25); Gorki trilogy part I: The Childhood of Maxim Gorki (Everyman, Hampstead, January 20-February 2); Cukor’s The Chapman Report (National Film Theatre, January 20 6,15 and 8.30).
February 2021 tour
It became the Lumiere Cinema on October 7th, 1982.
Disney policy on July 21st, 1975. The Cinema was still called Odeon St. Martin’s Lane, Home of Disney Movies.