“The Scala had magic. It was like joining a club – a very secret club, like a biker gang or something … they could show films uncut because they had memberships, well that’s insane! It’s like they were a country club for criminals and lunatics and people that were high … which is a good way to see movies.” – John Waters
After climbing 5 flights of stairs, with a sign saying “gleich geschafft!” (“almost made it!”) encouraging me somewhere around floor 4, I emerged into a world painted red. A stark contrast to the rather sterile white of the staircase, almost signaling the energetic lifeforce of Sputnik Kino.
Ducking behind hanging red curtains, I quickly collected my ticket and a glass of wine from the very friendly staff member at the ticket counter. The room was dripping in red furnishings, but with a slightly unpolished look that I simply love about small, independent venues like these. Quite fitting for the “Scala!!!” showing. Promotional flyers for the British Shorts event lined the walls and counters; I found myself idly reading some film information and bathing in the warm, yellow light of the room while waiting for the show’s call time.
Time blurred as the chatter of those around me overlapped; British English, American English, German, Spanish, a few other languages I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Very Berlin, very multicultural, and presumably just the kind of crowd normally attending Sputnik Kino. As I entered “Kino 1,” I was given a handout about the British Shorts Retrospective screening and the “Scala!!!” movie in particular. Red seats were sectioned off row by row with orangey red brick walls, cutting off around chest height when sitting. Soon, the room was almost completely full of all ages, ranging from their 20s to around 70s. There was an unmistakable charged energy in the air. I somehow knew I was about to gain some kind of important insight.
“…to make some questionable decisions that hopefully nobody bats an eye at because, well, that’s what these spaces are for”
Scala foyer (1986) by Rob Brown
Co-directors Jane Giles and Ali Catterall gave a short introduction to their documentary (“Scala!!! Or, The Incredibly Strange Rise and Fall of the World’s Wildest Cinema and How It Influenced a Mixed-up Generation of Weirdos and Misfits”) and the wider world of the bygone cinema. The Scala was founded in 1978 but moved to its more famous location, a former Primatarium on King’s Cross, London, in 1981.
Unfortunately, it closed down in 1993, shortly after getting in some trouble for an illegal showing of the 1971 Stanley Kubrick film “A Clockwork Orange.” “All good things must come to an end,” as the saying goes. It became evident during this small introduction to the world of the Scala that this film was a labor of love made by those who had personally seen and felt what it meant to be there. Hearing them speak about the magic this place held transported me back to the first grungy, dirty DIY venues I frequented in Berlin during my early years here. That call of fresh youth and drive to experience the nitty-gritty of life. To find like-minded people. To experience and see things that are a bit “taboo” or “not for sensitive eyes.” Maybe to make some questionable decisions that hopefully nobody bats an eye at because, well, that’s what these spaces are for. Clearly, I was about to receive a crash course in the alternative culture that came before me.
“I was about to receive a crash course in the alternative culture that came before me”
And so I did. The documentary wove together archival footage and photos taken at the Scala, clips from movies shown accompanied by actual cinema programs, and recent interviews of Scala audience members. The way the film was cut together, a bit rough (intentionally, the directors noted), echoed the vibe of the Scala and created a rather immersive experience. All-night showings were central to the cinema. King’s Cross, at this time, was a rather rough and tough place, and the Scala provided not only an open environment, but a place for the youth (and marginalized) of the area to sleep, chill, rest, or just be otherwise safe during their nights out on the town.
Roy the Scala cat in cafe (1990) by Mair Payne
In a time where gay rights were being fought for under the oppressive Tory government, Scala was unapologetically showing wide-ranging programming: classics, arthouse, grindhouse, porn, horror, sci-fi, kung fu, and LGBTQ+ films. There was even a lesbian night! I could feel the excitement of the interviewees as they reminisced about their times at the Scala. They talked about the place like it was an old friend, a comfort. For good (films censored or completely unavailable in normal cinemas, beloved “cinema cats” prowling the aisles) and bad (film rolls that would sometimes start burning mid-showing, suspicious latex gloves left between cinema seats…). It was a bit of a mess, but it was their mess.
People didn’t go there just for a viewing experience; audiences laughed, cheered, and sometimes even recited the lines of films that were being shown. It was clearly not just a cinema, but a space of community, cultivating a unique interaction with film as a genre of entertainment. In fact, the audience I was sitting with even laughed and cheered a few times! The documentary itself fostered a similar sense of community and connection, though altered by modern conventions and setting.
“[The Scala] was a bit of a mess, but it was their mess”
The “downfall” of the Scala is what drove everything home for me. Black and white film of youths drinking on the roof of the building flashed across the screen as the narrative voice described the failure of fundraising efforts; a story I know all too well. It was closed down due to rising costs of rent, a fine of 1,000 pounds for the illegal showing I mentioned at the start, and other various issues associated with DIY punk venues. There was a bittersweet feeling to the archival footage, almost like watching a rooftop eulogy made from alcohol bottles, cigarettes, and a showing of “King Kong.” So, what exactly changed in my perception?
Watching the Scala fall to rent hikes and government fines, I couldn’t ignore what was happening outside that screening room. Right-wing parties are gaining power across Europe, gentrification is dividing our cities and gutting DIY communities, LGBTQ+ rights are being challenged, universities are shifting away from the arts, the middle class is slowly disappearing, and authoritarianism looms over us like a huge, angry rain cloud. Sitting in that multicultural crowd at Sputnik Kino, watching a film about a sanctuary space during Thatcher’s oppressive Britain while ICE terrorizes entire populations across the Atlantic and the AfD gains ground here… the parallels were impossible to ignore.
“In times like these, spaces like Sputnik Kino aren’t just nice to have; they’re essential.”
However, alternative culture is enduring despite all odds. I see more alternative people and venues in one day, online and in person, than I saw in my entire lifetime growing up in rural America. People are thirsting for a place of reprieve, a place to speak about politics, a community to organize with, and that is exactly where the spirit of DIY comes into play. In times like these, spaces like Sputnik Kino aren’t just nice to have; they’re essential. They’re where people gather to process, to resist, to challenge the narrative, to remember they’re not alone.
The screening left me better informed, connected to the history of the counter-culture movement, and more motivated than I have been in a good while. I’ve never felt more thankful, or connected, to the “weirdos and misfits” that came before me. History may repeat itself, but it’s our communities and independent spaces that enable us to provide meaningful resistance.
Hats off to British Shorts. They couldn’t have chosen a better film or venue for their retrospective showcase!
British Shorts | Sputnik Kino | “Scala!!!” Film Website
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