Unpublished; written in 2024.
Along the wide, sloping boulevard that is Collins Street, Regent Theatre sits sandwiched in between a seafood restaurant and a five-star hotel. It’s an old theatre – not dilapidated-old, but charmingly-vintage-old. A blast-from-the-past-old. A place ripped out of time.
Its Rococo-style facade sports ornamented pillars, an arch bracketing tall windows, and an artful balustrade wrapping around it like a lace trimming. During the day, sunlight glimmers off the glass and bleaches its sandstone-coloured exterior white; at night, the theatre is bathed in lights – the word ‘REGENT’ blinks red on a tall sign topped with a lit-up crown. The vertically arranged letters are spaced equally, like a dramatic breath taken between each one: R breathe E breathe G breathe— A brown awning, curving into a gentle arch over the sidewalk, is inlaid with rows of lightbulbs like hanging fruit.
Tonight, the lights gleam green in honour of WICKED’s opening night. The building is a performance in and of itself. It flaunts and shimmers and screams into the night, competing for attention against the equally historic Athenaeum Theatre across the street.
A smooth stone staircase leads me into a hall of carved walls and velvet drapery – it’s like I’ve stepped into a Gothic cathedral. The faint smell of cleaning product wafts from the red-and-gold carpet embellished with floral patterns. It’s hard to imagine that when it first opened its doors in 1929, the Regent was the flagship theatre of the Hoyts cinema chain.[i] Yes, that Hoyts. The one whose cinemas are now crammed into often-luxurious shopping malls: navy carpet, salted popcorn, surround sound, sleek leather recliners.
The atmosphere tonight is charged; electric. Two front-of-house staff hold glossy programs in the air, waving them like flags. A woman in a silver dress bumps my shoulder; her more casually dressed spouse – and I mean track-pants-and-woolly-jumper casual – trails behind her, carrying a cardboard magic wand. Mediaeval figures have been painted onto the curved ceiling: a nobleman wearing a hat with a red feather side-eyes me from atop his rearing horse; a knight poses with a battleaxe; a scribe flourishes his scroll; another knight bearing a flag has turned away, shoulders hunched – he looks like he’s banging his head against the wall.
I climb the stairs to the second floor, my feet finding gentle depressions in the marble: the result of thousands of other people’s shoes. ‘The Palace for the People’, this place was once called, according to the Marriner Group website.[ii] A lavish shrine to Golden Age Hollywood, it was a ‘palace of dreams’ where many came to imagine lives not their own.[iii]
I trace the swirling patterns carved into the wall, the soft stone pockmarked with age. I can’t help but marvel at how this theatre is still standing. It’d been destroyed by fire in 1945 and was subsequently rebuilt. In 1970, when television had made large cinemas uneconomical, it was shut down, sold to the City Council, and slated for demolition. But people had rallied around this place – trade unionists, former employees, regular theatre-goers. A committee dedicated to saving it was formed. Politicians were petitioned. Accountants were consulted.[iv] History or progress? Preservation or destruction?
History succeeded.
A magical place, twice dead, twice reborn.
I step in the literal footsteps of those who came before me and wonder what it is that sparks such passion for this theatre. I cannot imagine Hotys’s mall cinemas today inspiring much devotion in anyone.
As I arrive at the dress circle, a massive auditorium emerges into my field of vision like an unfolding film scene. It’s a full house; people chat and nurse cold drinks in tiny blue seats (certainly not as comfortable as modern Hoyts recliners). A chandelier glimmering with fake candles hangs from the domed ceiling. The stage is empty save for a few props.
I take my seat; the lights dim; the show begins. The main actress sings of dreams and magic. Palace of dreams. The weight of history settles upon my shoulders.
Now I understand.
[i] National Trust of Australia (Victoria). (n.d.). Regent & Plaza Theatres. Retrieved from National Trust Database: http://vhd.heritage.vic.gov.au/search/nattrust_result_detail/64603
[ii] Marriner Group. (n.d.). Regent Theatre History. Retrieved from Marriner Group Website: https://marrinergroup.com.au/regent-theatre-history
[iii] Blake, L. (2005). Rescuing the Regent Theatre. Provenance: The Journal of Public Record Office Victoria(4), 25-35. Retrieved from https://prov.vic.gov.au/explore-collection/provenance-journal/provenance-2005/rescuing-regent-theatre
[iv] ibid.
Wen Yee Ang 