Curled up on a grey velour seat in a padded red booth with an awning above, my cosy nook feels like a mildly more luxurious Eurostar seat. But instead of zipping off to Paris, I’m partaking in some digital time travel, via an extraordinary — and completely free — film and TV archive in central London. I put headphones on and settle into a documentary from 1975 called Noted Eel and Pie Houses. I started watching it because the title amused me, but was drawn into a compellingly told history of the East End.
Moments away from this calm, quiet hub is London’s bustling South Bank, where tourists and locals jostle for space during sunny riverside walks, young men and women fly past on rollerblades and street entertainers launch bubbles the size of blimps into the air, beside the Thames twinkling in the sunshine. It’s busy, and it’s hectic — and as soon as the rain starts falling, it’s often a case of ducking for the nearest cover. Which is how I first stumbled across this little haven, called Mediatheque, when trying to find a café for a quick bite.
Your own private cinema
Mediatheque is a viewing room for the BFI’s nearly 80,000-strong archive of films and shows, and the result of an endlessly evolving digitisation project. First launched as part of the new BFI Southbank venue in 2007, it was relaunched in 2017 in its current form. Why should this archive not be freely available for anyone to enjoy, they thought? And why not indeed — so it is now a permanent, free library, with screens and headphones to allow anyone to pop in and enjoy their own private cinema.
The entrance to this part of the BFI, away from the Riverfront restaurant and bar, is ever-so-slightly hidden away round the corner. At the top of the stairs, beside the Reuben Library and around the corner from the café, is a sea of round pouffes in front of a large screen and a glass-fronted room, which is where to aim for. There is a row of four booths, each with their own screen and wide enough for two people. A child or two could easily squeeze in as well — for the archive also includes classic and lesser-known programmes, from vintage Sesame Street to Morph, the plasticine man. My son, more used to high-octane Paw Patrol, found them both enthralling. Behind this row are 12 more screens, each in their own little booth with a desk. The chairs in these are more utilitarian, so if you want to settle in for a feature-length film, aim for those up front.
There are nearly 80,000 films and shows here — and the randomness of it all is part of the joy
It may not be the prettiest room, but it is rich with treasures. This archive serves as a diverse exploration of the nation’s history, from footage of a football game in the early 1900s to a parliamentary debate from the 1980s and everything in between, up to the present. When I last visited, on a rainy Wednesday afternoon, it was about half full. It’s comfortably buzzy, as sound is played out of little speakers as well as over-ear headphones — but clever soundproofing means that even when all seats are taken, you won’t be disturbed by your neighbour’s viewing. I sneak a look at the lady in the booth to my left. Elegant, with long hair drawn off her face by the large black headphones, she scrolls through the touchscreen in front of her and sighs, smiling. “There’s just too much choice!” she said. Eventually she settles on a nature documentary from the Nineties, pulls out a magazine and reclines back into her booth. All I can see then is crossed legs and the occasional turn of a page. On my other side, a man in his early thirties has fallen asleep in front of a sci-fi film.
I scroll through the touchscreen, and find the variety is extraordinary. Crippled by choice, I head for the “curated collections” page. This changes constantly — during the Euros, the “football on film” collection was updated; as it is nearly Halloween, “in dreams with monsters” was near the top. As with Netflix, you can whittle down the choices using filters such as cast member, genre and year. By way of comparison, the streaming giant itself has only 3,600 films and 1,800 television shows — here there are nearly 80,000. There is even a less-than-five minutes category for the time-starved. While there are some titles from regional and national archives, the major focus is the BFI National Archive. This is one of the largest and most important collections of film and television in the world, with more than 180,000 films and 750,000 television programmes. Eventually they will all be available to watch here.
The randomness of it all is part of the joy. In half an hour, I watched a 13-minute excerpt of the late Queen visiting Birmingham in 1951, some home-cam footage of Glasgow from the Sixties and a documentary about sign language in Ireland. For added nostalgia, they were punctuated with the original ads — during my sign language documentary I was treated to Renault, Bass beer and Burger King adverts, and even one for David Bowie’s Black Tie White Noise album, released in 1993.
The archive is also available online via BFI player. Some items are free while others will incur a small fee. Subscriptions are also available. A particularly cool tool on their online archive is the ability to whittle down via a map. It means that you can select your local area and, for example, find archive footage of a post-war street party your great-grandparents may have attended. I’m told someone did this and found footage of their aunt during a visit by Princess Anne. It is a wild and wonderful way to watch TV. Not just a hidden gem in London, but a hidden gem — and essential chronicle — of Britain.
