When I was a kid, and TV was a tiny black and white affair that ended with God Save The Queen at about 11:00 each evening, there was no greater thrill than the saturday morning flicks at the local Odeon cinema in Weymouth. Every week I would hurry down there clutching ten gigantic copper pennies in my clammy little fist, and open-mouthed, watch mad scientists in white coats, pull levers on death ray machines, disintegrating entire mountainsides in one puff. That, or trilby-hatted detectives with strange accents careering along the streets of Chicago or Los Angeles, before flying off the road into the Pacific ocean – to be continued next week (when miraculously, you would notice that they managed to jump free at the last second). This photo of my local 1933 Odeon Cinema was published, to my delight, in the latest copy of the RIBA Journal. Sadly, it was pulled down eight years ago to make way for a crappy block of flats.
Saturday Morning Flicks
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