Digital age making everything picture perfect at the Dominion

WHEN discussing movies and what makes them magic, the phrase “24 frames per second” seems like dry, technical language. Until you see it in action. In the crammed projection room of Dominion Screen Two, a Zenith X 2000H whips 35mm film stock through its industrial guts like a bandsaw, hungrily spooling more from a giant reel. The noise is constant, like a teletype, and for such an exacting process, it all looks terribly exposed. You could stick your head into the gap between the bulb and lens assembly if you were so inclined, although that would probably not impress the patrons below, who are absorbed in Jane Eyre.

Projectionist Jim Matherson, a lithe 29-year-old Irishman, is long used to the racket and can pitch his voice to cut through it without shouting. “Film is pretty strong stuff,” he replies, when asked about potential accidents. “It’s polyester now so it doesn’t break as often as people might think.” But while it’s far less likely to burn out, film is in serious danger of fading away. At our feet lie the bulky, boxed components of a new sound system, ready to be installed. The Dominion – a family-run Edinburgh institution, serving the film-going needs of Morningside since 1939 – is preparing to move into the digital age, where bulky reels are replaced by hard drives.

Matherson has been through this transition before. The cinema chain where he originally learned his craft switched to digital last year, and decided they didn’t need as many projectionists. He joined the Dominion staff six months ago. “As a format, I prefer film, it’s much more hands-on, much more tactile and you can actually work with it,” he says. “Whereas if something goes wrong with digital, all you can really do is switch it off and switch it back on again.” He glances at his watch; at this time of the afternoon, he has sole responsibility for all four screens, an exercise in spinning plates, if all the plates were the size of wagon wheels.

From the outside, The Dominion looks fairly conservative. The art deco exterior is listed and therefore frozen in time, while the well-appointed foyer has more in common with The King’s than Cineworld. But well before the rise of out-of-town multiplexes, independent picturehouses had to adapt and diversify to survive. In 1972, owner Derek Cameron split the original 1,360-seater auditorium into two screens – “twinned” in the industry lingo – and the process of subdivision has continued. What was once a coffee bar is now screen four, available for private parties. Rows of cramped seating have been replaced by comfy couches. There are wee tables for your victuals, be they Pringles, Poppets or a half-bottle of Reynier champagne.

For the shrinking number of independent cinemas attempting to plot a course somewhere between mass-market chains and the hardcore (and often hard-seated) arthouse circuit, the overall cinema-going experience has become a vital USP. For The Dominion, that means drawing on its 72-year legacy, or at least trying to evoke some shared cultural memory of “going to the pictures” when that meant ladies in pillbox hats selling tubs of ice-cream rather than typing credit card details into an automated ticket machine.

Manning a real-life ticket counter, 26-year-old Amy Ranaldi – whose blonde hair and bold eye make-up harks back to a more swinging era – can remember being taken to “the Dom” as a child. “When our school starting doing half-day Fridays, my mum used to bring us with a picnic wrapped in tin-foil. So when I started working here, it really felt like coming home.” Being situated in such a well-heeled area has its benefits. “We have lots of regular Morningside ladies, who are lovely. Our customers are very tidy. They bring their litter out with them.” Encouraged to acknowledge patrons as they leave, Ranaldi also gets instant feedback. They recently screened Bridesmaids, the hugely successful US comedy featuring scenes of the female cast projectile vomiting. What did the ladies who lunch make of ladies who launch? “Quite a few of our regulars saw Bridesmaids and had a few things to say about it. But a lot of them loved it.”

Unusually among film release schedules, the current Dominion programme has a very British feel. Alongside Jane Eyre, One Day and The Inbetweeners, the main draw is Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy. (Squint and you might imagine there remains such a thing as a UK film industry.) Tony and Jane Sprake are in the foyer buying their tickets for Tinker, Tailor, although it’s unlikely that they’ll be surprised by the ending.

“We’ve read the novel, we watched the BBC series and we’ve just listened to the audiobook with Simon Russell Beale,” says Tony. Jane, though born and bred in Edinburgh, left in 1969 but the Suffolk-based couple return every two months to see her 94-year-old mother. Going to the flicks has become part of that routine. “Most of the people who come to the cinema here want to watch the film,” says Tony. “This is an absolutely wonderful place,” says Jane. “We’re coming back tomorrow for Jane Eyre.”

Afternoon screenings tend to be the preserve of retirees, students and the fitfully employed. Emerging from Jane Eyre are Ella Donaldson, Helen Allan and Betty Miller, who fit into the first category. They are anxious to confirm the names of the two lead actors, who they thought were terrific. All are regulars.

“I can remember all the way back to when you had two films, the news, coming attractions and a cartoon,” says Donaldson. “But you know what I would love? Someone with a torch to show me to my seat like in the old days. I’m a wee bit dittery.” How do they decide what films they’re going to see? “We usually go by the actors,” says Miller. “But my daughter phoned me and said we had to go and see Jane Eyre. We’re going to see Tinker, Tailor next. You’ll enjoy that one, Ella. It’s a spy one.” She leans in, suitably conspiratorial. “She may not look it, but she’s a bloodthirsty wee thing.” Anderson nods. “I like a nice murder.”

All three also speak fondly of Derek Cameron, for years the very public face of The Dominion, famous for welcoming customers in a tuxedo. Cameron retired in 1996, with his children Mike, Al and Lesley taking over the day-to-day running. He passed away last month, but will clearly live long in the memory of his clientele. “He had such a lovely way about him,” says Donaldson.

Mike Cameron was cleaning out Dominion ashtrays at the age of ten, and worked in the cinema trade in Birmingham before returning to the family business in 1981. How does he think independent cinemas can best survive the march of the multiplex?

“You should have a vision of how you want the business to finally be,” he says. “You’ve got to have an endgame in mind. We’re not there yet. But we’ve strived to ensure luxury and style are our hallmarks.”

The shift towards digital could potentially help smaller cinemas. There is new trend of broadcasting live events – in the past year, I’ve seen the Royal Ballet, a National Theatre production and opera from the New York Met in cinemas. All would seem like a good fit for customers of the Dominion and other independents. And there’s scope to broadcast to the whole network.

“You could stage a live event in our 260-seater screen and transmit it to 25,000 people,” says Cameron. “It could give us a bit of empowerment.”

And unlike the national TV signal, the switch from analogue to digital in cinemas doesn’t have to be definitive. Two Dominion screens will retain their 35mm capability, so the sewing-machine rattle of projectors will continue, safeguarding the weekly ritual of splicing the reels of feature films together. This takes place in the slightly more spacious projection room of Dominion Screen One, accessible only by a steep stairway that includes an open-air balcony, near the cinema’s distinctive vertical sign. “If it’s raining, you have to run through this bit with the film reels,” says Jim Matherson. Up here is the only evidence of an interest in 3D technology; a grimy cardboard pair of red-and-blue cellophane glasses, apparently bundled with the VHS release of 1997’s Batman & Robin and wedged dismissively behind the light switch.

Down in the foyer, the place is becoming more animated ahead of the evening’s screenings. A vintage “screen full” lollipop sign with peeling blue paint is on hand, just in case. There are bikers with helmets wedged into the crooks of their arms waiting for tickets, and a woman saying “save us five seats!” to a friend. Heavy traffic at the pic ’n’ mix section is matched by a steady trade at the bar. Compared to the hooting chaos of your average multiplex foyer on a Thursday evening, this is more of a relaxing pre-theatre burble, animated but not aggravating.

Lara Flannigan and Chris Townsend, both 23, seem to fall into the target demographic for the big cinema chains, so why are they here instead? “My sister and my parents come here for special occasions,” says Flannigan. “It’s comfortable and they have good screens.” For Townsend, six foot and then some, the spacious legroom doesn’t hurt either. But there’s an even more decisive factor. “If it’s a big action movie, yeah, we will go to one of the bigger cinemas,” he says. “But if it’s more about the storyline then we’ll come here because we can actually hear what’s happening.”