The Thamesmead Grump

A Visit to the Pictures

and why I don't go any more.

The Woolwich Odeon.
This picture would have been taken in the late 50s
or early 60s. The film being shown was the 1948
version of "Joan of Arc" starring Ingrid Bergman.

A visit to the pictures for a child in the early 1960s would set you (or your Dad) back a whole sixpence. For that, you could sit in the theatre all day and watch the films over and over again. No-one ever seemed to time their visit to the start of the show, you would just turn up whenever and watch to the end, then you would watch the film from the start and leave when it got to the part when you arrived. This seemed perfectly normal at the time.

By my teenage years, I would try and impress my girlfriend by splashing out a whole 2 shillings and ninepence for a seat in the circle in the Woolwich Odeon; the Granada across the road was a bit cheaper as I recall but nowhere near as posh. Neither of them was as posh as the ABC in Wellington Street although the Odeon came a close second. You wouldn't take your girlfriend to the Century on the corner of the Woolwich Market about which I think the term “flea pit” was invented.

Sadly, the Woolwich Odeon is now the New Wine Church: a bunch of African God botherers with a dubious pedigree when it comes to the question of LGBT and Women's rights. (They have described homosexuality as part of the“world of darkness” along with murder and terrorism).

So unfortunately it's off to the Greenwich Peninsular to find an Odeon today.

The first shock is how much it costs to get in; £13.50 is the minimum ticket price now: if you really want to splash out it's over £23 for the Gallery. You don't just go to the pictures any more, now you have a “cinema experience”. (I wonder if they provide “cinema experience solutions”).

Your “cinema experience” starts in the foyer where you will be asked to pay £5 for two ounces of Dolly Mixture, or a hot dog that comes in at around £1.50 an inch. The price of a half litre of Coke would give the Chateau Lafitte-Rothschild 2009 a run for its money.

Butterkist. 

Wonderful stuff: it was all sticky and gooey.

It didn't come in servings either, you got a 

whole packet; and they didn't try and sell it 

as a health food. High in fibre, 50% less 
saturated fat: what's that all about?

Just close your eyes and walk past, dreaming of that time when a bag of Butterkist and a carton of orange didn't involve your Dad taking out a second mortgage.

You finally manage to get to your seat and wait for the show: but first - the commercials. On and on they go, one after the other: you might as well be at home watching Sky on the idiot box.

The sound level is such, that you have to decide on either clenching your teeth and risk having them welded together, or not clenching your teeth and risk them rattling out of your gums.

Okay, so you have managed to survive all of that and now you can settle down and watch the film – I mean, you can settle down and watch the film can't you? Well actually, no. 

Ten minutes into the start and the Bloaters arrive: you know who I'm talking about. There are at least seven of them and none of them weighs less than around 20 stone. They're late because they've been loading up with arms full of snacks and drinks which, after they have eventually managed to squeeze their fat arses into their seats (an activity closely akin to trying to get toothpaste back into the tube), they set about slurping and crunching their way through the stuff.

Slurp slurp they go: crunch crunch they go: on and on, driving you to distraction.

At last: the final slurp; the final crunch and now you can watch the film in peace, yes?

To make a hollow laugh.

It's at this point that the person sitting next to you decides to get out his mobile phone to check his Facebook page. His phone is one of these huge tablet things with a screen that could light up Wembley Stadium and leaves you so dazzled that it gives you an even bigger headache than the 3D glasses have done, and that's saying something.

You have to wonder why he decided to go to the pictures if all he wants to do is look at his phone, although to be honest, by this time you're probably wondering why you did as well.

And it was all for nothing really; in about thirty years time, you'll be able to watch the film for free on the BBC.