When the Scala cinema closed its doors in 1993, it left an indelible mark on the cultural landscape of London—and the memories of countless cinema lovers worldwide.
Known for its eclectic programming, underground cult status, and a free-spirited community, Scala was more than a cinema; it was a haven for outsiders and a bold experimentation ground. Nearly three decades after its closure, that legend lives on in the documentary Scala!!!, which delves into the theater’s history and its profound cultural impact.
In an interview with Screen Anarchy, filmmaker Ali Catterall and Scala’s former programmer, Jane Giles, reveal the journey that brought Scala!!! to life. Reflecting on Scala’s untamed legacy, they discuss everything from uncovering forgotten archive footage to capturing the cinema's visceral allure.
Through shared memories, personal anecdotes, and rare insights into London's cinema scene of the '80s and '90s, Catterall and Giles revive Scala’s spirit for a new generation. The documentary is both a love letter to an era of unfiltered cinema and a study in how cult spaces, like the Scala, shaped an entire generation of filmmakers, artists, and audiences.
Screen Anarchy: What started this journey of preserving Scala’s reputation and legacy?
Jane Giles: I worked at Scala from 1988 to 1992 as the programmer, and it just never left my system. I wrote a few articles over the years, and then in 2016, I finished my work as a film distributor for the British Film Institute. I took redundancy to write a big book about Scala—it felt like an important story to tell, both from the perspective of the audience and the repertory programming. It took me a year to write, and it was published in 2018 by FAB Press, with Ali as the editor.
As the book was being released, people kept asking, “Is there going to be a documentary?” And I thought, why not? I knew there was a lot of archive footage out there, and once someone came forward with an hour of amateur footage that no one had seen, I knew we had something. That’s when we started making the film—it took five years to complete.
And you did some crowdfunding as well, right?
Giles: Yes, we got £50,000 from the government to develop the project, and then we did crowdfunding to raise about another £40,000. Having done crowdfunding for the book, we already had a built-in audience.
About 400 people supported the campaign—some who had backed the book, some just for the film. It was a good experience, but it definitely helped that we had an established social media presence and a community of interest around Scala. That made the process much smoother.
Ali, you were part of that audience at Scala. What was your experience like?
Ali Catterall: Yeah, I stumbled across Scala when I was 16. I was at Kingsway College, which was just around the corner in King’s Cross, a pretty rough area back then. I was going to college there because I’d failed my exams at secondary school.
I was a bit of a misfit, but I’d heard that the Sex Pistols had attended Kingsway years before, and I thought, well, I should carry on that tradition of bad behavior. (Laughs) I ended up getting expelled, but before that, I discovered Scala.
The first film I saw there was Birdy by Alan Parker, with Nicolas Cage and Matthew Modine. I remember sitting in this rundown cinema that Jane always describes as a ruined Disney castle. About five minutes into the film, the cinema started shaking. I thought, “Wow, what a powerful soundtrack!” But then I realized it wasn’t the film—it was the trains running underneath!
That’s when I knew this was a different kind of cinema experience. I was hooked and started going regularly. Scala became my home away from home, this thrillingly dangerous but inclusive space for misfits like me.
How did you decide what to include in the documentary since you had a whole book about Scala? What was your process?
Giles: The book was from the management point of perspective—what it was like running the cinema. But for the documentary, we wanted to capture what it felt like to be part of the audience, so we put the book aside. We knew the Scala story had a clear narrative structure—three acts, like a classical narrative—beginning, middle, and end, with some prehistory and legacy thrown in.
We interviewed about 50 people for an hour each, transcribed all the interviews, and anything that made us laugh or cry stayed in. Ali, being the brilliant editor he is, arranged everything thematically. So, the film is roughly chronological but also explores the personal and social history surrounding Scala. Everyone we interviewed had a similar story—they discovered Scala at 16, they felt like outsiders, and it became a life-changing experience for them.
We chose Mark Moore from S'Express as our “poster boy”. Mark had such an interesting background—he’s mixed-race, South Korean and American, but grew up in England. He had a tough childhood in social care, but he speaks about it with great humor now. He also became a successful DJ and pop star, which made him the perfect figure to represent that intersection of creativity, struggle, and success. He’s someone who embodies the kind of person who found a home at Scala.
You started work on the film in 2018, and then COVID hit. How did that affect the production?
Catterall: Well, it became a COVID film, really. We finished in 2023, so it took five years in total, with COVID slowing things down. During the pandemic, we did some practice Zoom interviews, which helped.
But because of the timing, some interviews, like with Ben Wheatley, ended up being audio-only. By the time lockdown ended, he was busy filming Meg 2, so we just used his audio. It still worked out, but it’s an example of how we had to adapt.
Besides being a love letter to the Scala, the documentary feels like a sociological probe into how things have changed. Can you talk about the differences between that era and now, in terms of underground cinema?
Giles: Well, for one, when the Scala closed in 1993, we didn’t have the internet. We barely had a fax machine! (Laughs) We didn’t even have photocopiers. Everything was done on 35mm and 16mm prints. The whole world has changed with digitization and the internet. It’s a simple answer, but it’s the gateway that’s changed everything.
Catterall: Yeah, but I’d also add that it’s not just about technology. It’s also about sociocultural shifts. When the Scala closed in ’93, it was the end of an era. Quentin Tarantino’s Reservoir Dogs had just come out the year before, and the 90s became this post-ironic, postmodern time. You had this saturated, homogenized version of cult cinema, which the Scala never was. I always think of it as new clothes on old coat hangers.
So, cult cinema became commercialized in the 90s?
Catterall: Exactly. Cult cinema used to be organic, it had authenticity. But in the 90s, it got commercialized and homogenized. The Scala was the true face of cult, and its closing symbolized a shift. It’s like what happened with Oasis—an indie band on an indie label, and then suddenly, they became mainstream.
That’s the musical equivalent of what happened to indie films post-Tarantino, a kind of cultural necrophilia, which is mining those old kind of movies you'd see at the Scala and repackaging them, literally digging up the dead and repackaging them,´.
There’s been a lot of talk about whether cult films can still exist under today’s conditions. Do you think they can? [Catterall is the author of the book about the British cult cinema YOUR FACE HERE.]
Catterall: That’s a huge question. Mainstream distributors in the late 90s and early 2000s would actually ask, “Can we market this as a cult film?” That’s when “cult” started becoming a marketing tool. So, yes, I think there’s still space for cult films, but it’s different now. It’s harder because everything is so much more accessible. We’re flooded with content, and it’s homogenized. But there are still films out there that don’t get enough attention, that people discover and love passionately.
Giles: I always thought of cult films as something that a small number of people are disproportionately enthusiastic about. It’s not just that a lot of people love a movie, it’s that a few people are really enthusiastic about it. But once more people start loving it, it becomes part of the mainstream, and it’s no longer a cult film.
Catterall: Take Withnail and I, for example. It was a cult film for decades, but now it’s a British classic. The same with The Wicker Man. That’s traveled from cult to classic. As more people see it, it loses that cult status. But I think that’s the natural journey for a lot of these films. The more mainstream they become, the less “cult” they feel.
You mentioned SCALA!!! as a COVID film. Is there anything you would’ve done differently if the pandemic hadn’t happened?
Giles: COVID definitely affected our process. If the pandemic had been twice as long, we probably would have spent twice as much time researching. After we finished the film, we kept discovering more people who were part of the Scala audience—like Jonathan Glazer. We didn’t think of him at first, but when we saw him at the London Critics’ Circle Awards, we had this “ah-ha” moment.
Catterall: Yeah, Jonathan Glazer was literally coming off stage, holding his award for The Zone of Interest. Jane told me to go ask him if he ever went to Scala, and I did. I am shameless. He looked at me for a few seconds, a bit confused, and then said, “Of course I went to the Scala. Everyone did! It was amazing.”
Giles: His films, particularly Under the Skin and The Zone of Interest, have such a distinctive sound design, and that kind of immersive, atmospheric quality really reminds me of the Scala. It’s not just him though—there were so many filmmakers who were part of that audience. Sam Taylor-Johnson is another one. She was a student in the audience, watching John Cassavetes films.
You mentioned Jonathan Glazer earlier in relation to sound design. Are there any other filmmakers whose work shows a clear connection to their experiences at Scala?
Giles: Oh, absolutely. Jonathan Glazer is a prime example. You can really feel the Scala influence in his films, especially in his sound design and atmosphere. And of course, Ben Wheatley and Peter Strickland, both of whom were very inspired by Scala.
In fact, Peter Strickland once said that his entire oeuvre is based on a single month of the Scala’s programming. (Laughs) I think that says it all!
And as we’ve traveled with the documentary, we’ve met other filmmakers who we consider to be very “Scala” in spirit. We even got a lovely email from Sean Baker after he saw the documentary. He was so complimentary, talking about how much he loved it. When you look at his films, especially something like Red Rocket, you can see the humor and beautiful visions—traits that align perfectly with Scala’s eclectic programming.
So, would you say the influence of Scala goes beyond London?
Giles: Oh, without a doubt. Scala was located in King's Cross, one of the best-connected parts of London. People would travel from all over the UK—Scotland, Ireland—and even from abroad. In the 70s and 80s, if you had a favorite band, you’d travel across the country to see them. The same went for Scala; people came specifically to experience it. We even had people who were visiting London on holiday make it a point to visit Scala. That’s how our film ended up premiering at Il Cinema Ritrovato in Bologna—the festival director had visited Scala as a young man and fell in love with it.
Catterall: Yeah, and it wasn’t just people from the UK. When we started touring the festival circuit, we discovered that Scala’s legend reached far beyond London. For instance, Frédéric Temps, who founded the Étrange Festival in Paris, told us that he based his festival on Scala. It’s incredible to hear these stories from people who weren’t even based in the UK but still felt connected to the Scala ethos.
It’s interesting that so many cinemas and festivals still consciously model themselves after Scala.
Giles: Definitely. There are cinemas in London that openly admit they’ve taken inspiration from Scala—whether it’s the owners who went there themselves or younger people who are carrying on the Scala’s legacy. Scala had this mythic status, not only because of the films it showed but because of the community it built.
Catterall: Yeah, and one of the key moments in Scala’s mythos was the notorious A Clockwork Orange case, which made headlines around the world. That legal battle really put Scala on the map globally. But on a lighter note, there were also smaller quirks, like the fact that the cinema had cats wandering around inside. It was a wild, yet oddly welcoming, space.
You’ve touched on how Scala attracted a wide variety of audiences, including the queer community. Could you elaborate on that?
Giles: Scala was a club membership cinema, which meant we could show films that weren’t classified by the British Board of Film Classification. This gave us the freedom to screen films with more extreme content, from horror to sexually explicit works. A lot of these films, like Pasolini’s Salo or Thundercrack by Curt McDowell, naturally attracted a gay audience. And when Mark Valen, an openly gay programmer, joined in 1984, he really expanded the range of films for the queer community, combining camp and queer sensibilities with classic films. It became a real hub for that audience.
Catterall: It was like a fireworks box, as a friend of ours put it—filled with different kinds of fireworks, all going off at once! Each audience group—whether they were there for horror, camp, kung fu, or classic films—felt like they owned the place, even though they didn’t. (Laughs) The staff were the only ones who saw the full spectrum of people coming and going.
Giles: Exactly. You could have a double bill of La Dolce Vita, followed by a horror marathon or a camp classic like Purple Rain. The programming was wild and varied, but it all worked because each community found something for themselves at Scala. And there was Mrs. Reeve for example. She loved horror films but didn’t care for what she called “bedroom scenes.” She was in her 80s back then, but she supported our campaign to save Scala in 1993.
I wrote to her years later and found out she was 102 and still going strong. Sadly, she passed away while we were editing the film, but she remains a symbol of the loyal, eccentric audience that Scala attracted. Ali and me, we went to her funeral, and with her son and a priest, we were the only people there. And the priest asked us to say something. And I did not know what to say so I told the story of the Texas Chain Saw Massacre. And her son was just laughing.
You recreated some scenes in the documentary, the mushroom trip. Why did you decide to use animation for that?
Giles: We tried finding archival footage, but nothing worked quite right. So we commissioned a bit of stop-motion animation from Osbert Parker, who was actually in the Scala audience back in the day. He’s an incredible animator, and he even used original Scala tickets in the sequence. The animation helped us capture the surreal, trippy nature of some of the stories we were telling. Osbert kept everything.
He did us a big favor by giving us a great deal on that bit of animation. He also did the Primatarium scene, the jungle flashback that bridges the old Scala with the new. It actually looks quite authentic. He based it on a leaflet from the Primatarium, which he animated. We even tried to get David Attenborough to do the voiceover for it.
Ali Catterall: Yeah, we got a very polite note back from Attenborough’s team saying he wasn’t available. So... they made me do it instead. (Laughs)
Giles: Yeah, Ali got in a booth and went for it.
Catterall: I did my best David Attenborough impression: [in Attenborough voice] “You are seated on the side of a hill, looking over a clearing. In the light of early dawn, the forest awakens to a new day. Hold your breath lest you disturb the alert creatures of this exotic world.” It wasn’t quite Attenborough, but we made do!
Are you working on anything new now?
Giles: Yes, we are. Before we even started working on this documentary, we were developing a sitcom based on the Scala story. We thought it would be a comedy because we were working with producers who specialize in that. It didn’t quite gel at first, so we shifted gears to make the documentary. But now we’re revisiting the comedy idea, and Ali has plenty of other film ideas floating around.
Catterall: Honestly, I sometimes think it’d be punk to just make this one film and be done.
Giles: (Laughs) I’m 60 now—I don’t know if I want to make films for the next 20 years!
Catterall: I mean, this is our first film, and we really threw everything into it.
Giles: Yeah, there’s a point when you have to let younger people take over. I know it’s not a popular opinion, but I get so frustrated seeing the same older filmmakers making movie after movie. Ken Loach, Mike Leigh—when is enough, enough? There’s only so much money and audience to go around.
How has touring Scala!!! around the world has been for you?
Giles: Oh, it’s been an incredible experience. Since we started touring the documentary 15 or 16 months ago, we’ve felt this sense of community at nearly every festival. It’s been shown across Europe, Australia, America, Mexico, Mumbai... everywhere. At first, we were like, “Are you sure? You want to screen this in Mumbai. You know it has anal sex?”
But people have embraced it everywhere, even knowing it has explicit content. And festivals like Lausanne Underground Film Festival, with its music element, feel especially close to the Scala. The Scala had a strong connection to music, so it’s fitting that we’ve brought the film to festivals that embrace that same spirit.
Giles: It’s been exciting to see that we didn’t just make a nostalgia piece—it actually resonates with people today. It speaks to that feeling of being different, of finding your tribe. That’s what the Scala was all about.
Do you think the Scala community and aesthetics have now been transported into the festival environment?
Giles: Yes, absolutely. It might not be the same as it was in the 1980s, but festivals have taken on that role. Some cinemas, like Nova in Brussels, still carry on the Scala spirit, but it’s more about festivals now. Especially ones like this, which have that mix of old and new, of art and grit.
Catterall: We’ve definitely found that the Scala spirit lives on in these festivals, where people come together over a shared love for something unique and a little off the beaten path.
SCALA!!! or the Incredibly Strange Story of How the World’s Wildest Cinema Influenced a Mixed-up Generation of Weirdos and Misfits is available on Blu-ray and online via BFI Films (UK/Eire) and on Severin Films’ Blu-ray from December 3, 2024.
Cover photo: (c) Alison Narro.