F
or 10-year-old Umit Mesut, growing up
in Northern Cyprus, films were the most
exciting thing in the world. Later on,
he even started watching them. “At first
I wasn’t very interested in the image on
the screen,” he says. “I was fascinated in
the mechanical side: light shining out, reels turning
round, the clatter in the gate.”
Thus, a childhood bearing distinct echoes of one
of his favourite films, Cinema Paradiso unfolding.
When Umit’s cinema-owning grandfather wasn’t
whizzing him around beneath Mediterranean skies
on the back of his motorbike, he was schooling him
in the ways of the projection booth. At the same time,
says Umit, “My father brought me an 8mm projector.
I haven’t looked back.”
In 1968, the family moved to the UK and, for the past
31 years, boyhood enchantment has manifested as
grown-up reality on the Lower Clapton Road in East
London. Umit & Son is packed tight with projectors,
towering reels of film, videos and related ephemera,
conjuring the warmth and intrigue of a yesteryear
hardware store; a picture of chaos to the newcomer, the
very model of logic to the shopkeeper. Terry Gilliam and
Michael Caine are fans, Bob Monkhouse was a regular,
and scores of TV and film production staff drop by for
props or advice.
Among his wares is a 120-year-old Kalee projector.
“It’s a hand crank, no electrics. It takes a 10-minute roll,
which in the 1900s would have been an epic. It works
perfect, doesn’t need much maintenance. That’s the
thing with these machines, they can be fixed.” Unlike
certain modern phenomena we could mention.
“Isn’t it quite sad they’re projecting off a USB stick
now? I had to train for over a year to be a good enough
projectionist for a paying audience. And they’ve got the
cheek to call it film? You’re not processing, cutting,
printing, so how is it film? The biggest problem with
digital is the colours; on film they’re just gorgeous.”
While Umit’s reel life projectionist skills are stillregularly utilised at CINÉ-REAL – a strictly celluloid
film club – the faff of carting equipment around means
he no longer offers home screenings. “I’ll never forget
the last one. This girl asked, ‘Do you have Star Wars on
8mm?’ I did, so I went around on screen day and I’ve
never seen anything like it. Normally there’s a gathering
of 15 to 30 people in the house, but it was just me, her
and her boyfriend...”
Umit doesn’t rate his own Super 8 films – “I was
young and experimenting” – but is still thankful for
having records of such occasions as his sister’s wedding.
“It’s memories. If you look after it, film is still the best
system for archiving.”
As is evidenced by some of the films he’s handled: the
9.5mm home movie footage of the first Labour Prime
Minister, Ramsay MacDonald, brought into the shop for
transfer by his granddaughter; Anthony Quayle’s son
handed over 60mm footage of the great actor having a
walkabout with Lawrence of Arabiadirector, David
Lean. And “the BBC and Channel 4 are both trying,
on and off, to grab my footage of the first President of
Turkey, Atatürk”.
All of which goes some way to making up for the more
usual transfer requests. “There’s nothing worse than
looking at someone’s family footage; generally out of
focus, unsteady, sound all over the place. Once in a while
you get something wonderful. I did a job a few weeks
ago with Kodachrome: never fades, very pungent
colours, just absolute joy. We get it once in a while and
I think ‘This is what film is about’.”
Ultimately, says Umit, “I love what I do. I get offers to
sell the shop, but for what? Another pound shop?
Another café? I’d lose my soul, honestly.”
Umit & Son, 35 Lower Clapton Road, London E5“I trained for overayearto
be a good enough projectionist
for a paying audience”THINK (^) | CRAFTSMANSHIP