This lively but uneven show about the history of the Rio picture palace in east London’s Dalston is staged in the cinema’s basement by the Big House, a local charity that works with young people who have been in care. Expectations of professional polish must therefore be tempered by admiration for the cast’s chutzpah and the ambition behind Electric. The idea is that the building has always been a home or refuge for outsiders, from its Jewish founder Mrs Ludski in 1909 to postwar Caribbean immigrants to a feminist collective and (less convincingly) sex films and strip shows in the 70s. In the central, present-day story, abused, homeless Faith fetches up in the supposedly derelict building with the self-appointed curator of its cinematic legacy, William, and a transvestite on the run.
There are intriguing ideas in TBH founder Maggie Norris’s 75-minute production: that cinema killed regular churchgoing in the UK, and that our enslavement to the moving image led to revenge porn. I also like the way the art deco Rio represents changes in local demographics: there are Turkish film posters from the 80s alongside Valentino and Chaplin, and it’s now an art-house haunt for hipsters and yuppie families. These points can get lost, though, in a script by Andy Day that is melodramatic and overloaded with themes, and in the shuffle between low-ceilinged rooms lacking in atmosphere. The non-professional actors are enthusiastic and committed and indulge in lively banter with the audience. If they get a little more out of it than us, that’s probably right and proper.
