Cinema isn’t good news in Pakistan. Where the industry saw tough days after the screening of Bollywood movies was outlawed early last year — which forced many exhibitors to shut operations — the pandemic drove the proverbial last nail in the coffin. Months in closure has meant a huge loss of business. No wonder no one is willing to reopen with the ‘permitted’ maximum capacity of just 30 percent. In this scenario, Plaza Cinema, one of Lahore’s oldest — not to mention, best-loved — picture houses, hits the headlines for being gutted, apparently in the way of commercial progress.

The story of Plaza may not be unique; it’s something we’ve heard before — large, single-screen theatres of yore are vanishing everywhere in the world, and this raises concerns of historical landmarks being ravaged every time. But unlike most cases where an anachronistic entity is recast as a modern-day multiplex — a Regent Cinema in North Yorkshire, England, which was built in the 1920s, is one recent example — Plaza is being repurposed as an “Art Plaza,” in the words of its owner, Jahanzaib Baig.

Which begs the question whether film is a priority for the industry-wallahs, especially those who’ve been in the business for generations. (For the uninitiated, Plaza was handed down to Baig by his father, Haji Mirza Iqbal Baig.)

It used to be the gentry’s favourite cinema in town. Senior journalist and former director of HRCP, IA Rehman, who is admittedly a film buff, recalls how the cinema had “top-class seating, be it in the Stall, Gallery or the Family Box sections. It exhibited the latest Hollywood films… We’d catch one or two shows every weekend.”

Officially opened on November 16, 1933, as Sagar Theatre — named after Moti Sagar, a prominent Hindi film director of the time — Plaza’s first Pakistani owner was a businessman, Mohammad Afzaludin Effendi, who had an army printing press in Simla, in pre-Partition India. He got Plaza in an evacuee property claim circa ’61, after he migrated to Pakistan. Later, the property became a bone of contention between Effendi and his elder brother, Mohammad Shaafi.

Plaza boasted a massive exhibition hall which was used for movies as well as musical performances. Turkish and Irani troupes were a regular during 1960-65. The hall was believed to have the best acoustics of the time. The platform in front of the screen was so big that it would easily accommodate a bunch of live musicians who played as accompaniment to silent movies. (This was before the talkies came in.)

There were several other attractions for the public. According to Mona Kashif, a granddaughter of the late MA Effendi, “a spooky skeleton would appear inside the hall and scrabble by, causing the audience to gasp, whenever a horror movie was showing. This added nuance to their viewing experience!”

Plaza also famously had a wooden dance hall on the 1^st floor, where popular dancers like Amy Minwalla and Rakhshi (real name Parveen Maseeh) trained their students.

Built on an eight-kanal piece of land, on Queen’s Road (later renamed Shahrahe Fatima Jinnah), only two blocks away from The Mall, Plaza’s location made it every cinema owner’s envy. It abutted the Freemason’s Lodge and Shahdin Manzil on one side and residences of city’s notables such as WZ Ahmed on the other. It faced the Civil Lines Police Station right ahead.

“Fundamentally, we’re trying to create a sustainable model wherein 30 to 40 percent of the area will be dedicated to artistic endeavours — some studio-type art activity along with a small performance space — and the rest to commercial activities like offices and, maybe, coffee shops to attract footfalls.”

Architecturally, it was a little marvel. Consider the two concrete sculptures of musicians sporting Mexican hats, placed prominently at the top of the façade. A lighted bulb on the edifice would indicate that a movie screening was on. No other cinema in and around Lahore had these design elements. Plaza was the work of RN Mathur, an architect who hailed from Chandni Chowk, Delhi.

Over the decades, Plaza changed many hands. In early 1980s, a family dispute led Effendi to sell the cinema to Haji Iqbal Baig who later passed its ownership to his son, Jahanzaib Baig.

In the early 2000s, following the period of decline of local film industry (aka Lollywood), Baig started mulling alternatives. A gas station popped up in the cinema’s front parking lot. More recently, lack of foot traffic compelled Baig to convert Plaza into a venue for commercial theatre, while some space on the rooftop was briefly given to amateur performance artists who would stage plays and hold music concerts for “no serious rent” (in Baig’s words). They called it The Colony.

Baig looks back at The Colony as “a good social experiment that lasted about six months” and steered him in the direction of an arts/cultural centre of sorts.

Early this year, Plaza hosted the Lahore Biennale on its premises. “The [Biennale] experience showed me that, yes, bricks-and-mortar is important but the location is important too,” he tells The News On Sunday. “A Cocoo’s will have no value if it doesn’t have Badshahi Masjid close by. So, the reason you’ll come to Plaza is because it’s a historic site. That itself creates immense marketing value.”

he Art Plaza is currently at the design stage. Baig says “all nooks and corners of the building have been documented. We’re trying to readjust the old elements and make them utilisable in the new design. The dance floor, for instance, is being incorporated.

“The idea is to create a sustainable model wherein 30 to 40 percent of the area will be dedicated to artistic endeavours — some studio-type art activity and a small performance space — and the rest to commercial activities like offices and, maybe, coffee shops to attract footfalls. I see a lot of potential for this. After all, art will never leave us, will it? And our future generations are going to need space to showcase their talents.”

He avers that Plaza has been ignored for many years: “There’s been no investment in The Mall over the past two decades. The government seems indifferent. Alhamra Arts Centre and Cultural Complex are there, and you have a few other organisations too, but unfortunately they aren’t playing their part. I see a huge gap.”

What about Plaza’s identity as a picture house? “Cinema doesn’t excite me,” he declares. “These days, you have home theatres. So, that’s lost its charm, in my head. At the end of the day it’s only about the activity and entertainment you create around movie-going and people coming in for multiple utilities.”

However, he hints at the possibility of “an exhibition space” which wouldn’t go above 100 seats. “Large, single-screen cinemas are obsolete already; we’re just holding on to them for novelty’s sake. With online spaces, especially post-Covid, the dynamics of the market have changed. We’ve to look at the future also.”

Meanwhile, the torn-down façade of Plaza has sparked a strong public reaction. From common Lahoris expressing nostalgia about the place, to civil society that’s dubbed it a commercial enterprise masked as an art centre, to conservationists for whom it’s yet another story of a historical site being destroyed, the noise around demolition is growing. Renowned painter and conservationist Dr Ajaz Anwar warns of launching an aggressive campaign from the platform of the Lahore Conservation Society (LCS). His standpoint is that a city’s landmarks must not be tampered with: “No one should be allowed to partition or sell these. The government should legislate on the matter.”

The writer is a staff member and tweets @usmanghafoor