Kino Europa in the center of Zagreb is celebrating its ninetieth anniversary. When I made the necessary calculation, I could not believe myself. It was built in 1925! The cinema hall itself actually looks as though it was built at least twenty and maybe even thirty years earlier, which would fit the history of film itself. It did not take me long to realize that Zagreb was a provincial town back then. It was growing by leaps and bounds, but most of its inhabitants were peasants turned industrial workers. The city had about a hundred-thousand inhabitants at the time. Cinema came over with a predictable delay, but the architecture stayed the same as it was at its birth in the late Nineteenth Century. When I checked the cinema’s history, I learned that it was designed by Felix Florschütz (1882-1960) for Adolf Müller (1857-1932), the investor. These names tell a great deal about the Croatian capital at the time, when the bulk of the elite was not Slavic. To the credit of the cinema’s owner, it was called Kino Balkan at the time. A much more appropriate name for the cultural institution, to be sure.

Addendum I (May 31, 2019)

As of yesterday, Kino Europa is no more. Boris Matić and his team ran it for an entire decade, and pretty successfully, but the city of Zagreb kicked them out of the premises on the expiration of their contract. According to the authorities, the building requires significant repairs, but it is not clear what will happen with it afterwards. Milan Bandić, the mayor of Zagreb, and his team keep mum on the subject. Having known Boris for nearly two decades, all I can wish him and his team at this stage is a new beginning worthy of celebration. How about a new venture in the Croatian capital with the old and propitious name—Kino Balkan? Worthy of celebration, to be sure.

Addendum II (June 2, 2019)

Well, I rushed with my story a little bit. Just a few minutes before the movers were to take away a few last things from the pavement in front of Kino Europa, a registered letter arrived from a court in Zagreb. According to the letter, the move was premature. Boris Matić and his team could remain until further notice. When they will have to leave the premises is anyone’s guess, but the postponement is a godsend to them all. I hugged each of them a couple of days ago, and I congratulated them on their unexpected victory. “Long live Ceaușescu!” I cheered them with my arms raised high. They all laughed, but they are sure to remember the mayor of Zagreb till their last breath. As for me, I will bewail the postponement of Kino Balkan’s return with renewed passion. “Damned Ceaușescu,” I mumble under my breath ever since.