The northside Dublin suburb of Phibsborough seems in a constant state of flux. The new bicycle greenway is currently being laid down by the canal, the vintage Brian Boru pub is pencilled in for potential demolition to build a station for the proposed Metroline, and planning permission has been granted for the tearing down and modernisation of Dalymount Stadium. Even the brutalist classic shopping centre has been up for redevelopment a number of times.
And then there is the State. Growing up in Cabra in the 1970s, ten minutes walk up the way, the State cinema on Doyle's corner was once my childhood local. The whole block is coming down soon; and for the first time since film’s inception more than a century past, all our local ghosts of the silver screen will have nowhere left to go.
Moving pictures arrived in Phibsborough in 1914. Within weeks, the Bohemian Picture Theatre and the Phibsborough Picture House opened around the corner from each other. But such was the buzz for the new entertainment of films there was plenty of business to go around. Indeed it was a whopping sixty years before the Bohemian closed for good in 1974. I still have memories of trying to get inside the derelict building with my brother, John, on occasions as it wasn’t demolished until the 1990s.
The State itself was built in 1954 on the ruins of The Phibsborough Picture House, or the 'Fizzer' or 'Blacker’ (after the nearby bridge) as it had become known locally throughout the decades. The State was special as it was Ireland’s first purpose built Cinemascope cinema. Its golden years as a first run picture palace lasted barely two decades. But it was born anew in 1975 as a second run cinema and occasional concert venue, where both The Ramones and the Wombles would later play to sold out crowds - though not on the same bill. Still, I could see Uncle Bulgaria and Joey Ramone skinning up at the fire exit after their sets.
My own relationship with the State began with giant ants in 1978. I chose Empire of the Ants over some space film called Star Wars and life wasn't quite the same afterwards. I mean, those spaceships were a long, long time ago in a galaxy far, far away; but ants - albeit somewhat smaller than the pictures - were everywhere! So were Disney cartoons, which seem to follow one after the other on our Saturdays.
Then came Grease. Even at that age I was already in love with musicals thanks to old Deanna Durbin matinees on the BBC. Though not your traditional musicals, her voice wrapped up in those old black & white pictures sung to my seven year-old self. But Grease was a full-colour Cinemascope revelation to me and my sister, Karyn. We played the LP endlessly. (At that time, our home vinyl collection also consisted of Saturday Night Fever, The Story of Star Wars, Brendan Grace and Animal Kwackers.)
The State of course had a parallel life playing regular second run Hollywood fare and double features to adults. When The Exorcist ran there, there was an actual attempted exorcism of the building by some religious group. I was never allowed near the place at night, but that didn't stop me looking at the posters outside. At that age, posters for the likes of Piranha, Capricorn One, Convoy, Enter The Dragon, The Wild Geese and The Deer Hunter, fueled a boy’s imagination.
Walking into town with my mum, or even sometimes sent alone to get the messages, you’d have to pass the Banba (later Bob’s Bargain Store) where I’d see what the latest Kalkitos offerings were, before stopping at the cinema to check out what was showing for grown-ups. It was during one of these messages-missions into town in March of 1980, I noticed the posters had disappeared, replaced by a sign reading ‘‘Closed for Renovations’. The months passed.
My dad took John and me to The Empire Strikes Back at the Ambassador in town. I remember thinking, I can't wait to see that again in The State when it reopens. It never did, of course. Not as a picture house, anyway. The ice rink years followed. Then the carpet showroom era came. When eventually that shut up shop, so did all life in the old State. I always make a note to stop by whenever I visit my parents. Remnants of its past lives litter the lobby.
The ghosts of that huge Cinemascope screen remain within for now. The memories of laughter, screams, giant ants, killer piranhas, exorcisms, car quakes, convoys and summer nights live on inside us all who were there.
