Vinash Kaal — a Hindi horror flick whose poster shows a midriff-baring actress in a plunging neckline on the left and two lecherous villains on the right — is meant to be enjoyed ironically. But that’s not why Mumbai-based film archivist Shivendra Singh Dungarpur paid Rs 40 to watch it on the big screen in Bandra two weeks ago.

The film was part of his pilgrimage to single screens in Mumbai and Kolkata. “The movie doesn’t matter. I just want to show them my support,” says Dungarpur, who — with the ardency of a devotee thronging his shrine of choice — has been sitting in the seedy chairs of single screens, and clicking pictures of these ancient “temples of cinema” post-lockdown.

But the truth is that his celluloid temples that need much more than prayer to survive their Coronavirus-induced ‘The End’ in the wake of the film industry taking big releases directly to streaming sites and hygiene concerns shrinking footfalls further.

If many iconic theatres such as Galaxy, Shanti and Sri Rama in Hyderabad and Agastya, AVM Rajeswari and Maharani in Chennai have succumbed during the lockdown, former ushers of theatres such as Mumbai’s Edward Talkies — who once enjoyed greedy welcomes and free lunches at nearby restaurants — are now working as security guards.

In Kolkata, six cinemas — Priya, Menoka, Ajanta, Ashoka, Jaya and Basusree — reopened after lockdown only to close again on November 20. Others such as Navina have brought down the number of shows from four to two. Many are waiting for releases such as the promising Christopher Nolan film ‘Tenet’. While this big picture might rejuvenate a few theatres, the bigger picture for the country’s 6,000-plus single screens remains gloomy.

West Bengal, for instance, had 225 single screens before the pandemic but now, 70 cinemas haven’t reopened while 50 to 60 others are keen on selling off their property. According to Suranjan Paul, the owner of Minar, Bijoli and Chhabighar, many single screens were tanking even before the pandemic. “Those halls were not upgraded and the turnover was bad. The pandemic is a catalyst for them to snap ties with the movie business completely,” says Paul, who refuses to close his ageing screen even though it’s making a mere 20% of what it used to.

If 20 theatres on the T Nagar-Anna Salai stretch in Chennai perished to make way for malls and multiplexes between 1986 and 2006, Maharashtra has lost almost half of its 1,200 single screens to economics in the last two decades. Many of Mumbai’s Art Deco-inspired cinemas — Art Deco was the architectural norm for cinemas throughout India well into the ‘70s — are now on the verge of becoming grey relics from a technicolour time. “If we were to shut down permanently tomorrow, the government won’t blink an eyelid,” says a bitter Mrunalini Gole of Mumbai’s Liberty Cinema, whose rich Canadian Cedar-and-Burmateak-lined walls and Plaster of Paris detailing continue to pull many camera-toting Japanese architecture buffs. Once infamous as the “porn theatre of Bombay” until the 125-week running ‘Hum Aapke Hain Kaun’ turned its fortunes around in 1994, Liberty Cinema is now waiting for Mumbai’s lifeline — local trains — to resume before it decides on a post-lockdown comeback.

Till then, memories must sustain the decrepit talkies. Sanjay Bendre, manager of Mumbai’s Edward Talkies — a three-tier wedding-cake-like cinema — recalls Edward’s “golden era” when 1974’s ‘Jai Santoshi Maa’ had a 48-week housefull run and tickets were so elusive that businessmen would bribe theatre workers with the same gifts with which they bribed deities: coconuts, blankets, tea-sets, garments, and free lunches. Today, the ushers have lost their jobs and films fill barely 20 of its 509 seats, with the audience comprising largely of college couples interested only in off-screen action. However, nostalgia still makes old-timers still drop in and ask: “Can I step inside just to have a look?”

What Tirupur M Subramaniam, president of the Tamil Nadu Theatre and Multiplex Association, remembers most about watching films at a single screen theatre is the “curtain man”. “There would be an embellished curtain in front of the white movie screen and minutes before the show was to begin, a man would sprint up to the curtain to open it. The entire theatre would begin whistling in anticipation of the movie beginning. It was almost as if he was the hero,” says Subramaniam. Sadly, it’s time to pull the curtains down. “A single screen is now an old elephant,” pronounces Bendre. “Neither fit for the circus nor for riding.”

Not everyone is giving up. Raj Kumar Mehrotra, general manager at Delhi’s Delite Cinema, says while occupancy has been very low, he is not disappointed. “The footfall is increasing with every film, every week,” he says. Plus, as blockbusters start opening, he’s sure the cinematic experience will prevail. “I am not talking about single-screen cinemas that have not upgraded or kept up with the times but those that give the audience good seats, air-conditioning and atmosphere at affordable ticket prices. Just look at Raj Mandir Cinema in Jaipur, one of the finest in the country. Their one screen makes the same collection as 6-8 screen multiplexes for some movies. The same happens at Delite too.”

Like Dungarpur, some viewers too are passionate about saving theatres. Kolkata-based actor Saptarshi Ray has formed an organisation called Pagoler Pathshala with 50 members to promote community viewing in theatres following all health protocols. “Whatever we have achieved is because of our work in movies and on stage. Now is the time for us to give a return gift to the industry that gave us our identities,” says Ray, whose team has collectively watched four movies and one play so far since October 21.

Additional reporting by Kamini Mathai and Ketaki Desai

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Even at the age of 91, Rabin Seth hops on to his bicycle and pedals 2 km from his Girish Park residence to Kolkata’s Chhabighar, the theatre he joined as a youth in 1952. Over the years, he became manager of the single-screen cinema established in 1930. Even though his salary is delivered to his residence after the cinema reopened, Seth still cycles to Chhabighar, just to check the turnout. “Cinema is my soul,” explains Seth, who feels that even if there are a handful of viewers, the lights shouldn’t be turned off. “Doing that is a body blow to the industry as well as the staff. Cinemas have fought the onslaught of television and video piracy. A little bit of patience is all we need to get back on track,” says the confident nonagenarian.