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| Bradford: city of Bollywood dreams | Bradford: city of Bollywood dreams |
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| Remember that famous scene in East is East where George Khan's family drive from Salford to a Bradford cinema just to watch a Bollywood film? Well, they weren't alone ... | Remember that famous scene in East is East where George Khan's family drive from Salford to a Bradford cinema just to watch a Bollywood film? Well, they weren't alone ... |
| During the 1950s and 60s, immigrant mill and foundry workers from as far away as Newcastle and Sheffield came to Bradford to catch an Indian film on their day off. Bradford was one of the earliest centres of Indian film screenings for the south Asian community in Britain. | During the 1950s and 60s, immigrant mill and foundry workers from as far away as Newcastle and Sheffield came to Bradford to catch an Indian film on their day off. Bradford was one of the earliest centres of Indian film screenings for the south Asian community in Britain. |
| My dad's brother, Mohammed Ayub, was one of the men behind these screenings. He was still a teenager when he arrived in Bradford in 1950. His father was already settled here and my dad followed soon after. Coming to Bradford was little more than a temporary financial arrangement. There wasn't much work back home. | My dad's brother, Mohammed Ayub, was one of the men behind these screenings. He was still a teenager when he arrived in Bradford in 1950. His father was already settled here and my dad followed soon after. Coming to Bradford was little more than a temporary financial arrangement. There wasn't much work back home. |
| Sunday was the day of rest. Even the mills and shops were closed so the men had nothing to do. TV sets were scarce and few men spoke English. My uncle realised some form of entertainment was needed. He'd been such a fan of Indian films in Pakistan that he'd often sneak off to the cinema near his village. Perhaps this was his chance to follow his passion and make some extra money. Cinemas were plentiful in Bradford in the early 1950s; there was one in every area. My uncle approached several cinemas in the town centre, finally striking a deal with the Essoldo to screen films during Sunday afternoons, when the cinema was usually closed. | Sunday was the day of rest. Even the mills and shops were closed so the men had nothing to do. TV sets were scarce and few men spoke English. My uncle realised some form of entertainment was needed. He'd been such a fan of Indian films in Pakistan that he'd often sneak off to the cinema near his village. Perhaps this was his chance to follow his passion and make some extra money. Cinemas were plentiful in Bradford in the early 1950s; there was one in every area. My uncle approached several cinemas in the town centre, finally striking a deal with the Essoldo to screen films during Sunday afternoons, when the cinema was usually closed. |
| The Essoldo was just a couple of doors away from the famous Busby's department store on Manningham Lane. It had started life as the Regent theatre in 1914, gaining popularity for its stage shows before a takeover in 1947 by the Essoldo cinema chain. It was an imposing building with an ornate interior which included a stage, two dressing rooms and a "gentlemen's smoke room". | The Essoldo was just a couple of doors away from the famous Busby's department store on Manningham Lane. It had started life as the Regent theatre in 1914, gaining popularity for its stage shows before a takeover in 1947 by the Essoldo cinema chain. It was an imposing building with an ornate interior which included a stage, two dressing rooms and a "gentlemen's smoke room". |
| On the cinema manager's advice, my uncle established the Commonwealth Film Society – a name he hoped would appeal to Indians as well as Pakistanis. The 6p membership enabled him to raise enough capital to hire a film from a London-based distributor. In return, the 300 or so members were guaranteed a seat and a discount against the two-shilling (10p) ticket price. | On the cinema manager's advice, my uncle established the Commonwealth Film Society – a name he hoped would appeal to Indians as well as Pakistanis. The 6p membership enabled him to raise enough capital to hire a film from a London-based distributor. In return, the 300 or so members were guaranteed a seat and a discount against the two-shilling (10p) ticket price. |
| Before long, spending Sunday afternoon at the Essoldo became the social event of the week. It was a chance to change out of grubby work overalls into the only English suit the men owned. Films like Andaz (1949) and Aan (1952), starring popular actors like Dilip Kumar and Raj Kapoor, offered the men a lifeline. It was a chance to reconnect with home. The men were grateful even when the same film was screened for six or seven consecutive Sundays because nothing else was available, as my uncle explains: "You never saw anyone all week. Those that worked nights were sleeping all day, and those that worked days were sleeping at night. So they were waiting all week for the film. Sunday was the day that you got a chance to meet everyone." | Before long, spending Sunday afternoon at the Essoldo became the social event of the week. It was a chance to change out of grubby work overalls into the only English suit the men owned. Films like Andaz (1949) and Aan (1952), starring popular actors like Dilip Kumar and Raj Kapoor, offered the men a lifeline. It was a chance to reconnect with home. The men were grateful even when the same film was screened for six or seven consecutive Sundays because nothing else was available, as my uncle explains: "You never saw anyone all week. Those that worked nights were sleeping all day, and those that worked days were sleeping at night. So they were waiting all week for the film. Sunday was the day that you got a chance to meet everyone." |
| My father had married by the early 1960s. But even after my mum, Mumtaz, joined him in Bradford, the Sunday screenings initially remained an exclusively male activity. Mum says she wasn't allowed to go with him: "Being the conservative type, my husband felt it was shameful to be seen enjoying tales of romance at the cinema with his wife. Public displays of affection were frowned upon; even publicly watching two people falling in love on screen in the company of your wife was considered scandalous." | |
| A contemporary of my mother's, Shamim, who joined her husband in Bradford and discovered he was screening films at the Western Talkie Cinema on Park Road, remembers being the only women there: "My husband would wait until all the men were seated before sneaking me in through the back just before the film started. That's where I'd sit, all by myself. My husband was too busy selling tickets to sit with me and he didn't want anyone to see me. Five minutes before the film finished, he'd indicate that it was time for me to leave. If people saw me, they'd say that my husband was giving me too much freedom!" | |
| The development of the Asian community in Bradford during the mid-1960s coincided with a decline in cinema attendance among the mainstream; people were turning their backs on cinemas in favour of newly purchased TV sets. As inner-city cinemas, including the Essoldo, struggled to survive as bingo clubs, Asian entrepreneurs began to convert them into exclusively Asian cinemas to meet the growing demand. Visitors coming from out of town were spoilt for choice. It wasn't uncommon to catch a film at noon at the Elite on Toller Lane, move on to the Kashmir on Wakefield Road, and then catch an evening film at the Roxy on Barkerend Road. | The development of the Asian community in Bradford during the mid-1960s coincided with a decline in cinema attendance among the mainstream; people were turning their backs on cinemas in favour of newly purchased TV sets. As inner-city cinemas, including the Essoldo, struggled to survive as bingo clubs, Asian entrepreneurs began to convert them into exclusively Asian cinemas to meet the growing demand. Visitors coming from out of town were spoilt for choice. It wasn't uncommon to catch a film at noon at the Elite on Toller Lane, move on to the Kashmir on Wakefield Road, and then catch an evening film at the Roxy on Barkerend Road. |
| Blockbusters like Mughal-e-Azam (1960) and Gunga Jumna (1961) were always in demand, even though they were only available through distributors several years after their original release. While these were the films everyone wanted to watch, they were also the most expensive to hire. This was the dilemma facing Bansi Lal, another Bradford film exhibitor. He devised an innovative plan to outsmart rival exhibitors and maximise his box office takings. Lal would arrange four screenings, 30 minutes apart, of the same film at four different Bradford cinemas, selecting those with the largest capacity, thus guaranteeing at least four times the clientele. Since each three-hour film arrived in roughly 16 reels, Lal would spend his Sunday ferrying these from one cinema to the next, in a sort of relay, ensuring that each reel was in place at the right cinema, before a gap occurred in the screening. The audience was none the wiser, and Lal relished the challenge: "Nobody else could do it and we used to feel proud that we could!" | Blockbusters like Mughal-e-Azam (1960) and Gunga Jumna (1961) were always in demand, even though they were only available through distributors several years after their original release. While these were the films everyone wanted to watch, they were also the most expensive to hire. This was the dilemma facing Bansi Lal, another Bradford film exhibitor. He devised an innovative plan to outsmart rival exhibitors and maximise his box office takings. Lal would arrange four screenings, 30 minutes apart, of the same film at four different Bradford cinemas, selecting those with the largest capacity, thus guaranteeing at least four times the clientele. Since each three-hour film arrived in roughly 16 reels, Lal would spend his Sunday ferrying these from one cinema to the next, in a sort of relay, ensuring that each reel was in place at the right cinema, before a gap occurred in the screening. The audience was none the wiser, and Lal relished the challenge: "Nobody else could do it and we used to feel proud that we could!" |
| Most of Bradford's Asian-run cinemas closed during the late 1970s and early 80s when video ownership and piracy made it cheaper for families to watch Indian films at home. The majority of them have now been demolished. The red-brick former Marlboro cinema on Carlisle Road, with its distinctive hexagonal dome, is one of the few left standing. The Elite and the Roxy have been converted into mosques. | Most of Bradford's Asian-run cinemas closed during the late 1970s and early 80s when video ownership and piracy made it cheaper for families to watch Indian films at home. The majority of them have now been demolished. The red-brick former Marlboro cinema on Carlisle Road, with its distinctive hexagonal dome, is one of the few left standing. The Elite and the Roxy have been converted into mosques. |
| • Bradford's relationship with Indian cinema is the subject of a short film that complements the Bollywood Icons: 100 years of Indian cinema exhibition, curated by Irna Qureshi, at the National Media Museum in Bradford. The exhibition is on until 16 June. Irna also blogs about being British, Muslim and female in Bradford, setting her stories against a backdrop of classic Indian films. | • Bradford's relationship with Indian cinema is the subject of a short film that complements the Bollywood Icons: 100 years of Indian cinema exhibition, curated by Irna Qureshi, at the National Media Museum in Bradford. The exhibition is on until 16 June. Irna also blogs about being British, Muslim and female in Bradford, setting her stories against a backdrop of classic Indian films. |
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