For too long, the Prince Charles Cinema has stood as a blight on our great city—an aging, dimly lit temple of cinephilic masochism where overgrown film students and self-described “media analysts” gather to indulge their most insufferable urges. It is time, at long last, to bulldoze this monument to unchecked Letterboxd addiction and free the people of London from the oppressive rule of 35mm fetishists.

 

Why Must The Prince Charles Cinema Be Destroyed?

1. A Breeding Ground for the Most Intolerable People Alive:

Every night, the PCC becomes a refuge for men who own Criterion editions of movies they haven’t actually watched. Here, they sit, wide-eyed and reverent, as they prepare to loudly whisper about cinematography at a screening of Mulholland Drive for the seventh time. These are people who would rather die than enjoy a film unironically. They have memorized Roger Ebert’s Great Movies collection like it’s holy scripture, yet still believe American Psycho is “literally them.”

2. Midnight Screenings of Films No One Needs to See Again:

The PCC has made an industry out of resuscitating movies that should be left in peace. How many more times must innocent bystanders be subjected to a room full of adults belting out Rocky Horror in unison? Must we continue the ritual humiliation of The Room? Do we really need yet another sold-out Shrek 2 event, packed to the gills with aging millennials performing ironic karaoke?

3. The Seats Smell Like A24 Enthusiasm and Regret:

The very walls of the Prince Charles Cinema are soaked in decades of stale popcorn butter, the faint musk of unwashed Blade Runner hoodies, and the ghostly despair of those who attended a La La Landsingalong and did not make it out emotionally intact. It is an olfactory nightmare, a sensory violation, and quite frankly, a public health hazard.

4. A Film “Community” That Is Really Just a Cult:

The PCC does not simply show films. It indoctrinates. Attendees do not simply watch The Big Lebowski; they absorb it into their personality. If you fail to clap at the plane landing in Top Gun, you will be silently judged by a man with an Eraserhead tattoo. These people believe that Martin Scorsese personally checks their ratings on Letterboxd and that their esoteric knowledge of South Korean cinema grants them moral superiority.

 

What Should Replace It?

Instead of this glorified shrine to cinephile snobbery, we propose:

1. A Pret A Manger Superstore:
the first of its kind, spanning three floors, with oat milk on tap and ergonomic hot desks where finance interns and aspiring podcasters can stare dead-eyed at their MacBooks while consuming £7 croissants in silence.

2. A McDonald’s with 24-Hour Bouncers:
A truly egalitarian space where London’s drunk, belligerent masses can fight for their right to a McCrispy at 3 AM instead of spending the night watching Donnie Darko with a room full of men named Oliver who have “aspiring filmmaker” in their Instagram bio.

3. A Crypto Casino & NFT Lounge:
where rich failsons and former PCC regulars can throw their family money into decentralized oblivion while wearing overpriced streetwear, the same way they once threw their time into defending Denis Villeneuve on Reddit.

 

Enough is enough. London deserves better. Tear it down, reduce it to dust, and scatter its remains to the wind like the final screening of a long-forgotten arthouse flop. Let there be no trace, no plaque, no sentimental eulogy—only the sweet, blessed silence of a city finally free from the grip of film-bro tyranny.

Sign below and let us erase this plague from London’s cultural landscape—for the good of the city, for the sanity of its people, and for the blessed silence of a world where not a single person ever utters the words “actually, you should see it in 70mm.”

 

#DeathToFilmBroHegemony

#NoMoreSingalongs

#FlattenThePCC