Cities move fast. Districts transform. Signs change.
Buildings disappear without warning.
My favourite restaurants keep disappearing.
Even so I have been lucky in an almost improbable way.
I’ve lived in two cities where a small, old cinema that carries the slow breath of half a century to nearly a century waits only a short walk from home, as if the neighbourhood had left me a personal gift.
There's a building near my home in East London that has stood for more than a century.
Castle Cinema sits inside its old Art Deco frame, a small independent cinema shaped by many decades.
The seats are 古いですけど、they’re honestly the most comfortable seats!
When a film ends and I step outside, even the breath that rises into the cold air feels like part of the experience..
Its program balances new releases with art films, drawing steady crowds and holding the reputation of a place people genuinely return to.
Oh, so, do I miss having a glass of red at the cinema?
Absolutely.
There is another cinema only a short walk from my home in Tokyo.
Meguro Cinema opened in 1975 and has held its ground for almost fifty years.
(↑Click the link above and don’t be surprised. This is simply how many Japanese websites look.
I’m learning to embrace the chaos one page at a time!)
Older films find new life there through rotating selections.
The sound system shows its age and the screen is far from perfect.
That wear gives the space a character no multiplex can reproduce.
Once the projector starts, the room shifts into a state that invites focus the way one handles a marked piece of film with care.
Hyojin in Baroque Velvet Raglan Jacket, Loretta Essential Geelong Wool V-Neck Jumper, Back Tie Sheer Turtleneck Top, True Grit Suede Skirt, and Yuma Reversible Shearling Boot Warmers.
After spending time in both cinemas,
I started thinking about what makes these places matter beyond the films they show.
It isn’t only about programming or decor.
It has something to do with how a cinema shapes the way we watch, the way we pay attention, the way we share time with strangers.
And that thought led me to a larger question I keep returning to.
Why Cinemas Still Matter
I use plenty of streaming platforms — Netflix, Disney+, MUBI, Amazon, Apple TV, all of them.
They offer endless access and an almost impossible amount of choice.
Even so, there is something missing in that ease.
And that absence is what leads me back to the cinema.
Because the question I keep coming back to is simple: why do we still need to step outside and watch a film in a cinema?
Streaming gives us convenience but it also removes a certain form of attention.
At home we pause scenes without thinking.
We check messages.
We allow stories to run beside other tasks.
Nothing insists on our focus.
A cinema asks for something else.
It holds us inside a span of time that cannot be rewound.
We sit with strangers and respond to the same frame unfolding in front of us.
Even without words the sense of shared involvement becomes part of the film itself.
This is difficult to measure.
It's not based on resolution or sound systems, of course.
It has more to do with the feeling that we are present for an event that will not happen in the same way again.
There is something almost postmodern about that.
An experience defined by its singularity.
Watching a film in a room built for films changes the act of watching.
The scale of the screen shifts how we receive stories.
Our perception opens.
Our bodies settle into a pace that does not belong to our regular routines.
(No offence to the small screens, but I actually prefer having a small TV at home.
Mine is small on purpose, too, and I like it that way.
It makes the whole living room feel softer and more lived in.)
We sense others around us even without looking.
Laughing at the same moment,
silence deepens in certain scenes.
These responses connect us even though we arrive as individuals.
When the lights return we step back into the street still holding part of that shared experience.
It stays for a while and alters the day in small ways.
Meguro Cinema reminded me of this again.
A building that might look modest from the outside becomes a vessel for emotion once the film begins.
Places like this deserve to endure not because they are old but because they allow us to engage with art in a fuller way.
They teach us that some experiences require a dedicated space and our willingness to show up.
If I could change one thing, it would be the range of films available.
New international releases take a long time to reach Japan, and many cinemas focus mostly on domestic films.
A broader selection would make the city’s film culture even richer!