Going to the pictures
Wow. What an experience. After work, I ventured into West London, that mysterious hinterland, to meet some friends and discover the delights of the Electric Cinema on the Portobello Road. You feel as if perhaps someone might ask to see your passport in the Notting Hill area, it's so different to the rest of London. I've known a couple of friends who lived here, and they spoke of the constant noise, the constant buzz. They also moved out, one to the suburbs, the other to Herefordshire. It's not for everyone, but as a visitor, it's like nipping abroad for the evening, to a place that's part European capital, part New York. Particularly effective on a balmy night like this one, when everyone's out on the pavements. Those that aren't certifiably young, look and dress young. You wouldn't want to try and get a parking space on any other night except Sunday, when it's free. This is very built-up area, mainly bars, very Wendy James, very Rough Trade shop, and it can make you feel dowdy, but that's part of the fun. Seen the film Notting Hill? You haven't seen Notting Hill.

Our friends had bought tickets for us all to see Miami Vice and booked us in at the Electric Brasserie. The cinema was bought and refurbished in 2002, and a restaurant and bar added, by the bloke who runs Soho House, in Soho. In the dark, airconditioned cool of the back of the brasserie, we ate posh fish and chips (the chips came in a small metal bucket) with mint-flavoured mushy peas, a stack of buttery spinach, and desserts all round. My only worry was that, full of lovely food, I would nod off in the cinema. I was relying on Michael Mann to not let that happen. Mind you, cinemas are so uncomfortable, this was surely not going to happen. At 8pm we got up and went next door. Already the evening was a hit.


Fuck. This is what I call refurbished. There must be no more than about 150 seats in the cinema, which has just the one screen. The Electric is the oldest purpose-built cinema in London and it's been lovingly restored to its early 20th-century grandeur. What's not traditional is the layout. Each seat is a leather armchair, with a leather footrest, and with a handy table for drinks in between each one. You sink down into your seat with a bottle of water or beer or wine at your side. The actor Paul Bown, out of Watching but now mainly out of The Bill and Doctors, was sat in front of us. This is a an astonishing place. The prices are hiked accordingly, for ticket and drinks, but it's an experience anyone who loves the cinema should have at least once. It was warm in there, so to have a large bottle of Aqua Panna to hand, with a glass, was perfect. Miami Vice is a long film (about two hours and 20 minutes), but I could have stayed there all night. Only once did I start to feel myself slide into slumber, but I pulled myself out of it. Nobody would have noticed or cared if I had. The seats are further apart than the houses in our street!

I'll review the film separately. Needless to say, we repaired back to the Brasserie when it was over for a late-licence nightcap. Again, pricey, but you get what you pay for. The Electric is by definiton not a place you could afford to use as your regular cinema, but we all deserve a treat, and it fits that bill. (Oops, did I say bill? Let's gloss over that.) The only downside of a superb evening was the little film about the history of the cinema that they showed, which had misplaced apostrophes in the "its" on almost every subtitle. A subtle letdown in an otherwise sophisticated and literate-seeming republic of cool.

Its. Its. Its, you idiots!