Zarya Cinema Kaliningrad+++
Updated 14 September 2021 | first published 6 March 2020 ~ Kaliningrad Cinema
*Please be aware that since this post was first published on 6 March 2020 the Zarya has sadly closed. Perhaps another victim of coronavirus? I have published the edited, updated version as an epitaph to a cultural icon that surely must be missed.
There is only one independent cinema in Kaliningrad*, but it has been showing films since the 1930s. It withstood the conflagration of World War II, making it one of a small but respected fraternity of Königsberg survivors.
There is only one independent cinema in Kaliningrad, but it has been showing films since the 1930s. The Scala cinema, as it was first known, was the last cinema to be constructed in Königsberg. When it opened its doors to the public in 1938, nobody could have imagined that, in less than a decade, the city and the culture of which it was a part would cease to exist.
Unlike its compatriots, the Scala, now Zarya (Dawn), whilst badly damaged in the destruction that engulfed the city in the final months of World War II, escaped the fate of its contemporaries as it did the postwar edict to eradicate as many vestiges of the city’s German heritage as was considered practical, a deliverance that has ensured Zarya a place among the small but time-honoured pantheon of surviving Königsberg buildings.
More recently, the Zarya has undergone an imaginative interior refit: a novel, roots-sensitive makeover that has infused the cinema with new life without sacrificing its historic integrity.
Today, the cinema continues the tradition that it inherited, serving as an invaluable place of social entertainment and as a hub of cultural and artistic promotion.
To accomplish this in the hard-edged cinematographic age of monolithic multiplexes, Zarya has had to progressively reinvent itself by offering thematic events, film festivals and even extending its cultural focus to include interactive gatherings and support for local projects deemed beneficial to the wider community (see Interesting Facts panel).
If I am not mistaken (and I generally am) for a while in its recent history the Zarya cinema shared its glass vestibule with Kaliningrad’s casino, later replaced by a restaurant that in recent months has also closed. But then how accurate am I? Vodka+beer+age = inevitable impaired memory.
Today, it is impossible to stroll past the double-glass frontage of the Zarya without asking yourself what sort of place is it that would have a large, vintage film projector sandwiched between its windows? And after answering wrongly retro shop, you might be inspired to conclude a cinema.
European Film Festival
The day we had chosen to visit the cinema had coincided quite by chance with its hosting of the European Film Festival, a prestigious annual event.
The red carpet was out; very plush; someone must have telephoned and told them that I was coming, I thought.
My wife thought not.
She explained that the red carpet and the hallway decked out in an imaginative tableau was to celebrate the work of the Belgian surrealist artist René Magritte.
Now stop me if you’ve heard this one before but the composition of which my wife spoke consisted of the following: numerous black bowler hats strung from the ceiling at different levels; a large, black, life-size model of a horse wearing a black lampshade (of course); and on the wall a ceiling-to-floor printed screen bearing repetitive images of numerous men, each one wearing a bowler hat, carrying an umbrella and facing this way and that.
The Son of Man
At the back of this mind-teasing display, in front of the foyer, stood a mannequin rendition of the famous surrealistic painting The Son of Man. He was wearing a black jacket, white shirt and bowler hat and had a green apple suspended where his face should have been and above that pendulous apple a bowler hat on a wire. Makes sense? Perhaps, for you who are old enough, it does, viz ‘an apple a day keeps John Steed away’?
I must say that the assertive presence of monochrome went well with the cinema’s emphasis on red plush textiles. Against the wall, where the red carpet ended, the low-slung tub-chairs had large spongey cushions upholstered in red material. Their further attraction lay in the fact that they had a definite Art Deco slant to them and that the maroon upholstery struck a balanced contrast with the beech-coloured woodwork that comprised the frames and the backs. Keeping them company, and dotted here and there, was the bar fly’s stool of choice: tall, sturdy, their 1940s’ round-back style consistently upholstered in a thematicising rich red fabric. Rumour has it that these seats are faithful copies of those that would have graced the cinema back in its Königsberg days.
Kaliningrad cinema
There was an awful lot going on visually inside the Zarya foyer and going on mainly in bright red and black: black hats, black horse, black piano, black light fittings.
In the hallway the black light shades jostled for air space with the black bowler hats, and their black cables hung in drop-head clusters (more than enough to give an arachnophobiac nightmares) which gathered at a ceiling rose, again in black. The broad red carpet and maroon-rich chairs intensified the blackness, not sordidly or with menace and by no means effetely but in a modern full-bodied way, somewhere between ostentation and class. Red also asserted itself in the heart-shaped cards with which a man-made (sorry about the UK sexism) bush was bedecked. The bush acted as a ‘visitors book’, the cards adorning it pinned there by numerous satisfied patrons, who wished to express appreciation for their cinematic experience by posting notes of goodwill.
Architecturally, the interior of the building must have passed through various metamorphic permutations from the time it was salvaged from the ruins of Königsberg to its present-day incarnation. I was intrigued by the three or four doorless openings at the back of the room, all in one wall and separated from each other by a few feet only. The exposed but painted brickwork was a welcome sight in a building of this age, and the arches above the doorless openings echoed its heritage status.
Through these venerable apertures, through lighting thoughtfully muted, small glimpses could be garnered of the cinema’s licensed bar and of its alcoholic infusions, posh top-shelf bottles strategically arranged to create the illusion of must-have, do-need in the name of style and image. That there was more shelving than bottles was no mistake or oversight; it allowed this coterie of top-brand liquor the space that it demanded to capture centre stage, like the high-priced prima donnas that its members most certainly are.
Between the wall and shelving, in this semi-open space, a long curving bar presided. The counter was ~ surprise, surprise ~ jet black, and this deep hue, together with the inbuilt shelving, bright red bar stools and discreet lighting gave to the whole a rich swanky opulence but of a kind more readily associated with high-rolling nightclubs than cinema interval-drinking space.
At one end of this prestigious bar, the end where I had stood to have my photograph taken, the walls were covered in monochrome photographs, large pictures of people and lots of faces. I could only imagine that here assembled must be the cinema’s doyens, each one an exclusive personage in his or her respected field of filmography.
Kaliningrad cinema
At the other end of the bar, where there was more space, and in an area where the wall curved beautifully, a drawing room suite, constructed according to the 19th century penchant for walnut-framed divans and chairs, offered fortunate patrons one of a number of close encounters with different eras in which to sit and relax.
My wife, having discovered a large Art Deco figurine typically modelled in the female form, a gilt-metal delight symbolising movement, life and energy, just had to have her picture taken sitting in front of the upright piano on top of which this prized piece sat.
I, too, am an ardent fan of Deco, but I did not want to lose sight of the fact that the reason we had come to the cinema was inspired in part by curiosity but also for light refreshment.
The Zarya is not in the habit of serving meals, but then again why should it? After all, it is not Bill’s Café (do you know it?), but two teas and some snacks to go with them was not beyond the cinema’s remit, and once I had managed to rescue my wife from her inveterate deco addiction, we were shown to a seat in a distant part of the building, the window of which conveniently fronts the street, thus allowing you to snack in style as you watch the world go by.
A most agreeable room
This was a room in which the past and present met on equal terms. There was nothing disagreeable about 19th century reproduction antique furniture rubbing cabriole legs with the sleek profiles of modern black-vinyl seats or ebonised baluster rails used as visual divisions. There was a long wall seat, cushioned, comfortable-looking, running the length of the room, its presence literally overshadowed by a print of imposing proportions, gilt-framed, bold in colour and mounted on the wall above it. The scene depicted in this print has classical Biblical overtones, and I am sure that someone will recognise it from the photograph provided. However, you may encounter a little more difficulty when it comes to identifying its fellow print, since this has been suspended, frame and all, high above the flight of stairs that descends to the auditorium, and suspended close to the ceiling so that the image lies at 90 degrees to the floor.
Kaliningrad cinema Pop Art
A second room, running the entire length of one side of the building and at right angles to where we were sitting, accessible by two or three brick steps but cordoned off on the day we visited by a decorative barrier rope attached to two brass posts, offered tantalising glimpses through its doorless entrance and three or four apertures, which presumably once were windows, of its privacy beyond.
Although our view was limited to what could be seen through the gaps in the wall, there was sufficient visibility to see that the room was bedecked with mirrors, together with lighting sconces, retro advertisements and ceiling-suspended designer lanterns, the latter strung at random levels.
As I have said, this room was cordoned off, but if you don’t ask, you don’t get. And on this occasion, we did ask, and we didn’t get told to … you know.
It was a super room to be in, and I liked a particular table. There were three tables of the same kind in total: one at either end of the room we were now in and a third occupying the room in which we had just had tea. The design of the table was simple, striking and slightly anachronistic. It consisted of a fairly narrow light-wood oval top ~ reminding me a bit of a Rich Tea finger biscuit ~ and was raised on end supports of three, tall, inverted baluster-type columns supported on a curved base. These tables must be for standing against, unless you could find a high enough stool.
There was no shortage of things to see on the walls, but the attention seekers and getters were indubitably vintage advertisements, large-format reproduced artworks which completely filled the recessed arches in which they had been placed, most probably former windows, and were accomplished in the style generically known as Pop Art.
Through the large patio doors at the far end of this room an outside seating area beckoned seductively. She, like the rest of Kaliningrad, had had her fill of damp mediocrity where winter used to be.
It would have been nice to have settled down for 90 minutes in the cinema’s auditorium, but nowt was showing today with English-subtitles, so there was nothing for it but to quit this eclectic environment and take our chance with the weather, outside once again on the Streets of Kaliningrad (come on film/TV buffs, wasn’t The Streets of Kaliningrad a Quinn Martin production?)
*Please be aware that since this post was first published the Zarya has sadly closed. Perhaps another victim of coronavirus?
Interesting Facts about Zarya cinema
[Zarya is a member of the Europa Cinemas network, the first network of cinemas to showcase European films]
#In 1997 the World Premiere of Titanic was screened at Zarya. Lead actor James Cameron presented the screening
#The European Film Festival was first held at Zarya in the early 2000s and continues to be held there
#Zarya has connections with the actor Woody Allen
#Zarya has devised and hosted hundreds of festivals, many international
#Zarya invented a jazz and silent film fusion creating a film-concert concept
#Other novel creations from the Zarya management and team include parties, vinyl record sales and a festival library.
The architect of the Scala cinema building was Siegfried Sassnik, whose work encompassed both residential and commercial projects throughout Königsberg. Two of those projects stand today in the near vicinity of the cinema building: the Moscow hotel and the entrance to the Zoo Park.
Essential Details:
Kinoteatr Zarya
43 Prospekt Mira
Kaliningrad 236000
Tel: 8 (401) 230 03 88
Web: www.kinozarya.ru
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/kinozarya/
Opening Times
Sun-Mon 9am to 12 midnight
Fri & Sat 9am to 1am
Auditorium details
The cinema has two screening halls: one with 343 seats and the largest 3D-screen in Kaliningrad and a smaller hall where festival films and an arthouse are shown.
Copyright © 2018-2022 Mick Hart. All rights reserved.
Out and about in Kaliningrad
Premier Cafe Bar, Kaliningrad
Bar Drednout [Dreadnought], Kaliningrad
Apartment Museum, Kaliningrad (Königsberg)
Max Aschmann Park, Kaliningrad
Kaliningrad Ferris Wheel at Youth Park
Kavkaz Restaurant, Kaliningrad