Inevitably, as a scene with sandcastles on the beach foreshadows, their happiness is to prove short-lived. She shows him the long closed upstairs bar, now a roost for pigeons, he showing his caring nature (his mother’s a nurse) in mending one’s broken wing so it can fly again (the metaphor is subtle but clear) and, as they watch the New Year’s Eve fireworks from the roof she impulsively kisses him and a romance blossoms. Her life changes when a new ticket collector is hired, Stephen (Micheal Ward), a young Trinidadian whose attempts to study architecture have been consistently rebuffed. ![]() ![]() Her colleagues include Norman (Toby Jones), the projectionist who reveres the job he does bringing the magic of light into people’s lives, assistants Neil (Tom Brooke) and Janine (Hannah Onslow), and the smug married manager, Mr Ellis (Colin Firth) who regularly calls her into his office to give him handjobs. She’s also never watched a film in a cinema. She lives alone and, although not initially explained, from visits to her doctor and references to how she’s handling lithium, it’s clear there has been some sort of past mental health incident (Mendes’ own mother suffered from mental illness). Set in 1981, the pivot on which the film rests is yet another outstanding performance from Olivia Colman as Hilary, the dedicated and professional duty manager and occasional confectionary stand assistant of the Empire, an Art Deco seafront cinema that has seen better days, reduced now to just two screens. ![]() His first film as both writer and director, bolstered by Roger Deakin’s glorious photography, Sam Mendes delivers a very personal bittersweet love letter to the magic of cinema that can stand alongside the similarly themed Cinema Paradiso and Spielberg’s autobiographical The Fabelmans. This column will review films both screening theatrically and/or on various streaming platforms.
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