Prince Charles Cinema, Soho, London   Leave a comment

Pub #2139:

Jackie just read “The Long Goodbye” by Raymond Chandler and mentioned that she had never seen the movie version out in the early 70s (trailer below).  “It’s a Robert Altman, so it tries hard, but it stars Elliott Gould essentially leaving Altman to sprinkle glitter on a turd.”  But, the next week it was featured in Time Out with a screening of an original 35mm print at the Prince Charles Cinema in Soho so I booked tickets and we walked over for the 6:30 show from her work.  We were early and stopped by the bar for some nourishment (cans and bottles, mostly); the bar is open when the cinema is open so it qualifies, to me, as a pub.

This is a really cool cinema and I admire the contrarian nature of the joint.  In their lengthy and largely impenetrable FAQ, I spotted this emphatic note about Meerkat 2-4-1 tickets:


Then, during the seemingly endless commercials before the show they have a very expensively produced advert for exactly this membership product for movie tickets which are specifically invalid in this venue.  Marvelous.

My mind drifted during the stupid movie and at one point I was just appreciating the scratchy film stock and the register marks that warn of the end of a reel.  On one such reverie, a voice in my head spake thusly:

You hate those times you walk to the loo and there are three urinals with one guy using the middle one. He is at least a sociopath but may be seriously deranged. No one thinks that about using the middle of three sinks which is why I usually piss there, instead.

The best thing about the movie was the theme song or, more to the point, the musical director seemed convinced.  Different versions of the tune accompany different people, played on the radio or by a band at the bar…at one point is was done by a brass band during a Mexican funeral.

Arnold Schwarzenegger gets to strip to his underwear but he didn’t make the credits.  David Carradine (RIP after an autoerotic asphyxiation mishap) was also uncredited as one of Marlow’s cell mates during a brief lock-up.  My favourite “oh-yeah-HE’S-in-this-turkey” spotting was Jim Bouton who was a writer, raconteur, and knuckleballer for much of my baseball-watching youth.  Oh, and the girls living next to Marlow are all dancers unable to afford the top halves of their outfits…so there’s that, then.




Posted July 2, 2018 by Drunken Bunny in Pubs

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