The 'Magic's Over

Penn's experiment with the Cinemagic space was brief. But we learned lots.

by Shaun Brady

The garish colors, the neon "Popcorn" and "Drinks" signs, that Hoot poster that would just never go away, and, best of all, the film-reel carpeting: Had it been designed on purpose, The Cinema couldn't have seemed more schizophrenic, housing performance art, avant-garde theater, independent cinema and experimental music in a setting that epitomized the forced ninth-circle-of-hell cheeriness of an '80s mall multiplex. The uninitiated could have easily assumed the venue was a brilliant stroke of postmodernism, an ironic comment on the state of American culture.

But no. It was simply an abandoned movie theater.

ROLL CREDITS: Gina Renzi inside the former movie theater she curated and then disassembled. : Michael T. Regan

When Cinemagic moved out of the space near 40th and Walnut in the summer of 2005, Penn, which owns the property, already had plans to convert the place into a mix of student housing and retail. So with only a year and a half before the wrecking ball, the university agreed to conduct "an ambitious arts experiment," according to Andrew Zitcer, cultural asset manager for Penn's Division of Facilities and Real Estate. "It's really only your major institutions that can afford to do that kind of cultural experimentation."

The idea, says Zitcer, was to assess the viability of a screening facility and performance space as part of a larger attempt to define the 40th Street area as an off-campus cultural destination. Dubbed The Cinema, Cinemagic would be treated as "a little sibling to The Rotunda, in a way," partnering with various arts organizations who would actually curate individual events. But its unique advantages came from its past life, considering that most independent art spaces don't have the luxuries of three theaters, full-scale projection equipment and an accommodating lobby.

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Cinemagic left behind one film projector and surround-sound speakers in all the ceilings but only along one of the walls, according to Gina Renzi, executive director of The Rotunda, who fulfilled a similar role at The Cinema. She compared the experience of preparing the venue for live performance to dumpster diving. Dismantling the space was much the same, she says, "trying to protect things from winding up in a landfill or just reusing things for an artistic purpose." Renzi attempted to salvage whatever she could from the space, selling or gifting objects like projection equipment, lighting or acoustic panels to area arts organizations from the University City Arts League to Curio Theatre Company to Spiral Q Puppet Theater. Eventually she resorted to Craigslist, turning up home theater enthusiasts who came to collect seats.

That makeshift aesthetic was prominent in the minds of the organizers who used The Cinema as they looked back. Pig Iron Theatre Company built a 25-foot-tall staircase in The Cinema for their dance-theater piece Love Unpunished, representing the fire stairs at the World Trade Center during the 9/11 attacks. "Gum under the seats, 20-year-old popcorn kernels in the carpet," recalled Gabriel Quinn Bauriedel, co-artistic director of Pig Iron, with fondness (or disgust, it's hard to tell in an e-mail). "Walking into the building is a bit like going back in time. We weren't sure how this was going to play with our play about 2001 — might have been better if the play took place in 1985." Pig Iron's staircase remained in The Cinema for the rest of its existence, as did stages built for performances in the 2005 Live Arts Festival and by ArcheDream for Humankind. Which, in essence, makes it sort of a living museum of, like, a year in the life of Philly arts. And it's certainly evocative of a certain time and place. So shouldn't somebody be fighting for Historic Landmark status or something? I mean, nobody thinks the Dilworth House is all that architecturally special either, but a condo's now being built around rather than over it because of what it represents, right? As Thom Cardwell, executive director of the Philadelphia Film Society, which used the venue for this year's Philadelphia International Film Festival, points out, The Cinema may soon be representative of a lost art. "I'm starting to feel that movie theaters in Philadelphia (and perhaps elsewhere) have already become an endangered species," Cardwell laments. "Then one day we'll all wake up and wish that there was a communal gathering place to watch films on the big screen, in the dark, together!"

OK, so there're still plenty of movie theaters in Philly. For now, anyway. And as Pig Iron's Dan Rothenberg argues, The Cinema really was a bit of an eyesore. "The facade of The Cinema was kind of 1980s mall trashy. I don't think we're losing a lot by losing the outside of The Cinema."

But what is being lost with The Cinema's demise is a venue for multimedia in the city. Given its past life as a movie theater, the space could accommodate screenings as well as live performance. In fact, Penn used one of the theaters for some of its cinema studies classes. But given its short life span, some presenters felt they never got a chance to make full use of the opportunities.

"I regret that we didn't take greater advantage of The Cinema as a movie theater," says Dustin Hurt, whose Bowerbird presenting organization held several concerts of improvised music there last summer. "But using it as a venue had occurred so late that we didn't really have time to flush out more than a handful of sets that incorporated the movie screen or sound system."

Renzi and Zitcer are aware of the need, however, and are in the early stages of brainstorming a new space which could take up where The Cinema left off.

"Basically, we're thinking about the successes of The Cinema and how quickly it became a success," says Renzi. "I think it's really important to make sure that we have an open, safe, fun space for multimedia."

(s_brady@citypaper.net)