.... Because I'm Missing the QFT

I’m really missing the QFT this evening. I have always been wired a bit oddly and when the weather turns nice and I’m supposed to be outside enjoying myself in the sun, I always get a hankering to be inside in a darkened room watching subtitled movies alone. These days I am free to watch as many subtitled movies as I fancy, by myself, in the dark, but it’s just not quite the same as being purposefully anti-social in a social environment. Missing the QFT keenly tonight so I thought I’d repost this old blog I wrote a wee while back during the 50th anniversary celebrations.

The QFT turns fifty this month which means I’m celebrating my twentieth year of friendship with this Belfast icon. It would be shameful not to to mark the occasion. We’ve been through so much together. I’ve mentioned this many times before but the QFT is the place I retreat to when I want the world to go away and leave me alone for approximately 90 minutes, or two hours max. I’ve arrived at the QFT on the verge of tears and cried all the way through the movie. I’ve come in my pyjamas. I’ve snuck in with a bottle of Merlot hidden in my anorak sleeve, (though not lately, now you can legally take your drink in with you). I’ve come with friends. I’ve come alone. I’ve recently brought my niece and nephew for the very first time, and though they squirmed throughout and consumed their own body weight in Haribo, it is my hope that they’ll remember their first visit and still be coming twenty years from now. I’ve made some wonderful memories in the QFT.

I recall the night I cried so hard during a screening of My Life Without Me, a complete stranger scooted down the aisle to give me a hug and remind me the movie wasn’t a true story. Also the night, whilst nursing a stinking head cold, I sniffed and snuffled loudly through Holy Motors, pissing everyone off in a three seat radius, until a strange man, came striding across the aisle to offer me a Kleenex. I recall an awkward outing to the original Battle Royale with a very squeamish friend, and the annual repetition of It’s A Wonderful Life, which will always mark the beginning of Christmas proper for me. Magic moments all. More so, the last few years when I’ve been able to host Dementia Friendly Screenings at the QFT, catering for a bunch of wonderful people who’d otherwise struggle to access cinema. I also thoroughly enjoyed last year’s wonderful older people’s project, recording short film trailers with local seniors across Northern Ireland, (you haven’t lived ’til you’ve made a Jaws trailer with three octogenarians who’ve never seen Jaws). A lot of my best times have taken place in the QFT and, over the years, I have it to thank, for introducing me to most of my favourite film directors: Lynne Ramsey, Wes Anderson, Hal Ashby, PT Anderson and Terence Malick, whom I’ve fallen in and subsequently out of love with whilst sitting at the back of Screen 1.

I literally spend more time in the QFT than I do in my living room. (Nb. this sounds like an exaggeration, but having no TV and rarely going home except to sleep, I mostly just pass through my living room in pursuit of some book or other. In fact, last week, I did a quick tally of how many time I’ve sat on my sofa since purchasing my house two years ago, and the answer was eight. Eight times total. I’ve probably sat on the inside seat of Screen One, three rows back on the left hand side, eight times in the last mont alone. It is my favourite place to sit). I’m grateful to the various people who’ve worked in the QFT over the last twenty years, none of whom have ever made me feel tragic for seeing two films back to back on a Sunday evening, entirely alone. The difference between the QFT and the other, more commercial cinemas, isn’t just the programming, (which is fantastic), it’s also the hospitality and genuine welcome offered by everyone who works there.

I first encountered the QFT as a nervous undergrad back in 1998. Those were the days of the back alley entry, tickets that looked like raffle tickets and not being able to book online, so sometimes you queued in the rain only to find a film sold out by the time you arrived, sodden and shivering, at the top of the line. Coming from Ballymena where I mostly grew up, between the years of the State, (was ever there a more aptly named cinema?), burning down, and the new omniplex arising from the ashes of the Leisure Centre car park, I had to rely upon the four screen in Antrim for most of my cinema education. It wasn’t what you’d call extensive. Sorry, I lied. During and after the State we also had Spectrum Video too. Spectrum was one of those old school video rental places with an entire wall of moulded plastic shelves. You could tell when a movie was already on loan because it has a little yellow triangle tucked into the sleeve. The Herbiemovies were always on loan. They were very popular in Ballymena.

Suffice to say, I arrived at Queen’s in 1998 with a complete understanding of James Bond, Tom Hanks and Goldie Hawn and little to no knowledge of anything even vaguely arthouse. Reality Bites was my favourite movie, Steel Magnolias was the most profound thing I’d ever encountered and I’d never even seen Jaws, (still haven’t). Last year, I spent some time chatting to people who’ve also had a lifelong friendship with the QFT and almost all of them had similar stories. They pointed out that, before the era of Netflix and online accessibility, it was the only avenue they had to access non-mainstream movies.

Like me, many regulars, encountered cultures and stories beyond their own experience, for the first time in the art house films and carefully programmed world cinema the QFT screened. I can’t even begin to say how grateful I am for this service. I became both better informed and more curious about the world beyond Northern Ireland, because of all my wasted evenings at the QFT. I encountered ethnic, sexual, socio-political, gender and cultural experiences I’d never come across before, on screen at the QFT. I’d like to think these movies made me a more empathetic person for it’s almost impossible to empathise with another’s experience if you’ve never encountered it before. I fell in love with storytelling through the films I saw at the QFT. They began conversations with the books I was reading and the people I was starting to meet and slowly, over a decade or more, they began to draw the writer out of me. I don’t know that I’d be so obsessed with story, if I hadn’t had the QFT as such a constant resource during my most formative years. I can’t imagine how I’d shape my weeks if it wasn’t there.

And so, I’d like to say happy birthday to a very good friend, one of the oldest friends I have in Belfast. I’d like to express my thanks for all the ways the QFT has served me well these last two decades, and served our city well over fifty years. I’d like to wish her fifty more brilliant years and a revival of both Northern Irish cinema going and Northern Irish cinema making. And I’d like to encourage everyone who calls Belfast home to make the most of this incredible resource and -by attending screenings and buying memberships and purchasing drinks at the bar rather than smuggling wine in, in your sleeve- ensure we have the QFT for many, many years to come. Happy Birthday old friend, you don’t look a day over 21.