A star is reborn
As the legendary Stella cinema returns, one writer recalls its glory days, with ‘Elvis’... and spud guns
BELIEVE me when I say that I don’t have a big track record in terms of getting thrown out of places. I can only think of two occasions in my adult life when it has happened and, as I am about to explain, it wasn’t my fault in either case.
The first incident occurred sometime during the mid to late Eighties in a hellhole on Leeson Street – or, to use the precise terminology, a nightclub.
To cut a long story short, I was in company with a group of fellow revellers when someone decided to perform a conjuring act that involved the use of a heavy glass ashtray as a prop.
Suffice to say that the trick didn’t quite go according to plan and there were inevitable consequences for the ashtray, the butter-fingered conjuror and, indeed, his audience of innocent bystanders. Such is life.
The second time it happened was rather more irritating. It was the early Nineties and the venue was a different city centre nightclub.
I was chatting away to a friend when someone walking past bumped into me. Instinctively I turned around, only to be greeted by a very angry-looking woman demanding an apology.
Given that I had been standing perfectly still at the time of the minor collision, my reckoning was that she was the one who should be saying sorry. Sadly, she didn’t see it that way and an impasse ensued. The deadlock was finally broken when I sweetly informed her that (a) under no circumstances would I be apologising, and (b) she had my full permission to get lost.
And there, as far as I was concerned, the matter rested. Except it wasn’t that straightforward. Little did I know that this woman was apparently well-connected with the management of the establishment and, within a matter of seconds, a rather intimidating bouncer was escorting me towards the front door and out into the cold night air.
However, for the very first time I was ejected from a premises, we have to go back to the late Seventies. Even I’d have to admit that justice was served on that occasion.
The location was the Stella picture house in the middle of Rathmines Road; the occasion was Jack O’Grady’s birthday. Due to the fact that his father owned the cinema in those days, Jack was allowed bring a small group of his primary school classmates along as a special treat.
I’ll always remember the film that was shown that Saturday afternoon, even though it wasn’t up to much. It was a disaster flick called Fire! that starred Ernest Borgnine, Vera Miles and – so I now see on Wikipedia – the CHiPs actor, Erik Estrada. The plot centred on a convict who had escaped from a chain gang and started a forest fire which threatened the very existence of a small community in rural Oregon.
But my recollection of subsequent events is even better. I should say at this point that we didn’t have exclusive use of the cinema and that there were also paying punters in attendance.
We must have known in advance that this would be the case, because we had come armed for the occasion with at least two spud guns between us. I suppose I’d better explain because, given that we now live in an era of hi-tech and new-fangled toys, I doubt they even exist anymore.
But spud guns were a must-have in the days when I was still in short trousers. Their success was based on a combination of air pressure and the surprisingly high level of discomfort that can be caused by a single potato pellet.
Better still, even a small Maris Piper could provide several hundred rounds of ammunition.
It never even occurred to us that someone could lose an eye in the process.
NOR, frankly, did it dawn on us that we could be thrown out of the cinema for firing indiscriminate potshots at people who had paid hard cash to see an admittedly mediocre movie. But Jack’s surname didn’t help us. Not long after the lights dimmed, we were unceremoniously turfed out by a manageress.
Apart from that, my memories of the Stella are scant enough. I do recall a friend telling me that the late-night weekend screenings of The Exorcist were the ideal place to bring a first date.
When I pointed out that this hardly seemed like the most romantic of evenings, his reply had a ring of common sense about it. ‘Look,’ he reasoned, ‘no woman is going to go home on her own after watching that.’
The last time I was there was to see Some Mother’s Son, the deeply depressing IRA hunger strikes film starring Helen Mirren, sometime in the latter half of the Nineties. It was abundantly clear by then that the cinema was on its last legs and, not entirely unexpectedly, it closed its doors in August 2004.
Now, however, it is open for business again with an entirely different look. But the glamour of its new incarnation isn’t a million miles removed from the original.
First time around, the Stella opened for business on January 29, 1923 and was the second largest cinema in the country at the time. Only La Scala in Dublin city centre, later known as the Capitol, could claim a bigger capacity.
The Stella had a granite facade with an eye-catching neon sign, a first-floor ballroom and enough space for 1,283 customers. There was also a fountain in front of the screen, which would be switched on and illuminated by coloured light during the interval. The first film shown there was a silent production called The Imperfect Lover, directed by Walter West and starring Violet Hopson.
Various changes were made over the years, most notably the replacing of the shopfront with a metal grille. There were occasional music gigs on the premises, including a legendary performance in March 1978 by Elvis Costello & The Attractions, where tickets cost just £2.50.
Then, in September 1981, it was divided into two separate screens, seating 280 and 180 people respectively. But the writing would soon be on the wall: like other independent suburban cinemas, the Stella was effectively driven out of business by the rise of the multiplex.
After years of lying idle, it went up for sale in 2015 with a price tag of €1.75million and was subsequently bought by the Press Up Entertainment group.
The company, which is fronted by Paddy McKillen Jr, owns The Dean Hotel, The Workman’s Club and several other popular venues around the capital.
Since then, there has been a painstaking restoration process on the original facade, plasterwork, mosaic tiling and the Art Deco handrail leading upstairs. The venue – now called the Stella Theatre – opened on Halloween night with a screening of the Eighties classic, Cinema Paradiso.
According to its website, the Stella now consists of ‘one eye-catching large screening room with a large balcony bedecked with a beautifully ornate ceiling’.
There is a first-floor cocktail club with its own separate street entrance, as well a bar in the foyer.
THE menu features tapas-style options including Parmesan and wild mushroom risotto balls, monkfish tacos, tuna salads and tempura shrimp. Meanwhile, the drinks list includes cocktails, beer – both draught and bottled – spirits and wine.
All seating in the auditorium is allocated – and it consists of large red leather chairs, as well as couches and even a row of double beds right in front of the screen. Each seat comes with a cashmere blanket in case it happens to be a particularly chilly evening.
Meanwhile, there are also weekend brunch and late-night screenings, children’s films on Saturday and Sunday afternoons, and so-called ‘Ladies Who Lunch’ specials. According to the website, the last option is aimed at those who ‘can’t think of a better way to spend a Friday afternoon than watching your favourite chick flick on the big screen while sipping on cocktails, indulging in some hot yummy food, and simply relaxing on one of our luxurious armchairs’.
None of this comes cheap, of course. Standard tickets cost €19 each, while OAPs can expect to pay €15. Even seats with a restricted view are priced at €12.
Still, I can think of worse things than watching Murder On The Orient Express in a room that looks like a bigger version of a carriage on, well, the Orient Express. I might even leave my spud gun at the door this time.