About halfway down Preston Road, wedged in between a fire station and a side road, there stands a truly odd-looking building. Painted a bright, buttery yellow, with ornate, baroque-style architecture and a massive pair of can-can legs protruding from the roof - this is, of course, none other than the Duke of Yorks Picturehouse. It is the oldest cinema in Britain, and its history, as you are about to discover, is as frequently peculiar as it is long.
When the Duke of Yorks first opened in 1910, the concept of film had itself only been around for 14 years. Despite this, it was not the first cinema in Brighton. That honour went to the Electric Bioscope – a bizarrely named cinema with some truly bizarre quirks, including an ice grotto, a hand-cranked projector, and, my personal favourite, an attendant with a large syringe whose job it was to spray disinfectant during performances. The place had nonetheless become extremely popular, sparking something of a cinema craze in Brighton. It was out of this that the Duke of Yorks emerged.
Right from the beginning, the cinema was a little wacky. It was built on the site of an old brewery, with the rear part of the malthouse preserved as the new auditorium. A baroque-style facade was erected out front, complete with a flower shop and a French pastry shop, the latter of which allegedly sold baked goods shipped all the way from Paris. The cinema itself had some odd traditions too – for instance, the tendency of the original manager to corral the audience into a rousing rendition of ‘God Bless the Prince of Wales’ before every film showing. Despite this, though, the cinema was seen as a classy venue, and was accordingly equipped with all the latest film technology. This included an electrically operated projector, fan air conditioning and an orchestra pit, so that the at-the-time silent films could be accompanied by live music. The place’s original tagline ran ‘Bring her to the Duke’s – it’s fit for a Duchess’ - and, honestly, I suppose anything’s better than being squirted with disinfectant.
The cinema remained reliably popular throughout the early 20th century, weathering both WW1 and the Great Depression remarkably well. However, during WW2 it fell into decline, with people seemingly a little too preoccupied by the bombing, food shortages and threat of imminent Nazi invasion to go to the cinema. The place also began to gain a reputation for being outdated. It was one of the last cinemas in the country to issue metal tokens instead of tickets, which, whilst a pretty cute idea in my opinion, was probably nonetheless hugely impractical.
In an effort to rid itself of this reputation, the cinema underwent a major makeover in 1946. A modern sound system was installed along with a new projector, followed by a new screen in 1956. Fearful of losing out to competitors, the cinema allegedly remained open during the installation of the latter, through the use of an ‘ingenious scaffolding system’ (details of which could unfortunately not be found anywhere on the internet – and I very much did try).
For a while all these renovations seemed to be paying off, and the cinema saw a significant boost in attendance. Alas, though, this was not to last. As the 1950s rolled round, cinema turnout plummeted across the country, with bingo taking over as the latest leisure-time craze. In an attempt to win back customers, the cinema began to host bingo nights twice weekly; in the 1970s it went further and branched out into wrestling. However, neither of these attempts at diversification were met with any real success, and the cinema began to change hands from one overly-optimistic company to another on a depressingly regular basis.
Switching tack once more and pretty desperate now, the place tried to rebrand itself as a hippie ‘art-house’. This too failed fairly dismally, and in 1983 the place was driven to temporary closure. Being the Duke of Yorks, closed of course by no means meant boring, and an illegal punk rock concert was hosted there on the 23rd of July. This certainly served to gain the cinema significant publicity - however, it also sealed its reputation as being a bit of a fleapit venue, which probably didn’t help much with financial matters. The cinema reopened soon afterwards with a grand screening of Annie: the Musical, which ended up being somewhat tragically cancelled after no one actually showed up.
In this way the cinema limped on through the 1980s and 90s, perpetually on the brink of permanent closure. In 1991, when the Moulin Rouge Cinema in Oxford closed, its 20ft can-can dancer's legs were transferred to the Duke of Yorks in - what? An attempt to entice more people in through sheer weirdness? Gotta admire the effort, I guess.
In 1994 the company running the cinema finally collapsed, in what transpired to be a great turn of events for the Duke of Yorks, if not for the company itself. The place was bought by City Screen, an arts chain, which finally had the funds needed to fully revamp the cinema. The building itself was also given Grade II listed status.
Today the Duke of Yorks remains a hallmark of the Brighton arts scene. Financially it’s doing pretty damn well, for an arts venue at least – although the owners want to do better still, and have expressed an interest in buying the fire station next door in order to transform it into a second screen. And why not? It seems a fittingly wacky plan of action, at least, for this consistently wacky cinema.