A history of the establishment of Tselinny

On 14 August 1962, city authorities designated a two-hectare plot of land at the intersection of Kalinin (now Kabanbai Batyr) and Masanchi streets for the construction of a cinema. Kalinin Street was a major landmark of Almaty in the 1960s, home to a popular pedestrian area nicknamed “Broadway” near the Opera and Ballet Theater (GATOB). In this piece, we delve into a history of the establishment of Tselinny.

The Thaw and The Cinema

Tselinny until the late 1980s

From the time it opened in 1964, up until the collapse of the Soviet Union, Tselinny worked for 27 successful years. This piece delves into the cinema’s golden era.

The Best Cinema in the Land

How Tselinny survived the 1990s and 2000s

After almost three decades of successful work, Tselinny had to withstand hard times, just like the rest of the country. Along with the USSR, the film distribution system also collapsed. Throughout the 1990s, the cinema tried to survive, though it finally experienced a renaissance in the 2000s. Along the way, the building underwent large-scale and unsuccessful renovations.

From Caligula to Selling Sofas

Opening of the Tselinny Center of Contemporary Culture

Today, the movie theater is taking on a new meaning, undergoing a large-scale reconstruction which will turn the building into a new multifunctional public space. A piece about the revival of the building and its new history as the Tselinny Center of Contemporary Culture will be available soon after its inauguration.

The Modern History of the Building and Its Future

From the Alma-Atinskaya Pravda newspaper on June 2, 1961.

June 1, 1967, photo by G. Linkevich, from the RIA archive.

Sgraffito by Yevgeny Sidorkin inside the movie theater. Photo courtesy of Vadim Sidorkin.

The 1960s. Photo from the Central State Archive.

Snezhok, the cafe near Tselinny, during the 1960s. From Anna Yefremova’s family archive.

Photo from the 1970-1980s. Author unknown.

A postcard of the Soviet Artist publishing house in Moscow from 1967. Authors: T. Bakman and A. Natalina.

The discovery of Yevgeny Sidorkin, thought to be forever lost until 2016. Photo by Daniyar Mussirov

Tselinny in 2018. Photo from the institutional archive

Tselinny in 2018. The exhibition of Garage Museum of Contemporary Art

The archival photographs from 1964 to 2018 capture the rich history of the Tselinny Cinema—from its grand opening to the present day.

Tselinny, the largest cinema in Kazakhstan, opened its doors in Almaty sixty years ago, in 1964. Its history was full of ups and downs: From being the highest-grossing and most advanced cinema in Kazakhstan to hosting a furniture shop within its premises.

In this project, Vlast recounts the history of the building, its transformation, and its new life as a Center of Contemporary Culture, which will host art exhibitions, film screenings, theater performances, public discussions, and much more.

While in school, we had school trips to Tselinny to see all kinds of movies, from 

. From there, we usually strolled back to our school a few blocks away. After finishing school, I took a job there as a senior “pioneer” leader. The cinema hosted some kind of group meeting. The gathering, however, was a failure: everyone was making noise and throwing things around, rattling chairs and being rowdy. That was 1987.

Yuliya Mitrofanova, Almaty

It was the warmest day of summer, 1989. My friend called me and said that her brother could finally leave the house, so it was a good occasion to go to the cinema together. He was still walking on crutches. He had returned from [the war in] Afghanistan. He [had to recover] at home for many months. He sat silently, staring at the wall and enduring his pain. But when he finally left the house, his first thought was to take his sister to the cinema. She was 10, like me. And I listened to her happy voice through the phone receiver: “He held my hand and hugged me when I was scared. He finally came back from the war and now, it looks like he’s back forever.”

Another time, I went to Tselinny with a blind friend. We watched a film together. That is, I watched it and told Tanya what was on the screen. I spoke quietly, but my whisper was still disturbing. Yet no one scolded me. And when some guy hissed at me, he was reprimanded from all sides: "Don't bother the girls, let them watch, the movie is for everyone."

Zhanar Kussainova, St. Petersburg, originally from Almaty

When I was 17, my parents were always either about to divorce or making up, and we, the children, were in constant fear: What was it gonna be tonight? Usually there was a "clarification.” We did not interfere, did not ask, we simply hid in the corners. Of course, they tried all sorts of magic tricks so that we would remain a family, like before.

I am the eldest, the beloved daughter of my father. One evening he invited me to Tselinny. We always had something of our own, my dad and I: we listened to music, read books, and discussed films. So I was not surprised. We watched Luchino Visconti's 

 in Tselinny — a poignant film about love, death, rivalry and betrayal, about family relations, where it is difficult to understand why one is a hero and the other is an anti-hero, and why mothers still love their wayward sons. The film was difficult for me then, yet its plot was immediately to me: I could easily guess who among the brothers was good and who was bad. I knew whose side I was on. It was spring, everything was waking up, the evening smelled of warm grass, of rebirth and hope. Something was already beginning to bloom and the aroma spread along the streets. Dad suggested we walk home, and we walked, swallowing this wonderful spring air while debating about the film, about Rocco, his brothers, their mother, about how difficult it can be to remain yourself when life oppresses and breaks you, and how not everyone can do it. We talked about Luchino Visconti, what a subtle director he was, and how he created such a multi-layered and complex film.

When we got home, my dad said: “I need to talk to you.” I didn't understand right away, because we had just been walking and talking for half an hour, but we sat down on a bench near the house. That's how I found out that my father had another child and that he was leaving us. He had to leave. And we had already grown up, and so we needed to understand him.

There is no point in retelling the details of that conversation, it was very tense. I did not give up, explaining that we were certainly not adults yet. After all, I was the eldest. In the end, however, I went home alone.

 at Tselinny became a watershed for my family. It marked a watershed moment between the happiness of living with my father and this aching pain of living without a father.

I watched many movies in Tselinny. There, I had my first experience with [director Andrei] Tarkovsky. I saw 

. Tselinny was a sacred spot for us then. But when I pass by the Tselinny building, my memory immediately runs to that spring, that evening. The last evening when my father belonged to me. Before there were "other" children that he had to go back to.

. I probably watched it 20 times already. I am still trying to figure out why my father took me to see this particular movie as he had to make, perhaps, the most difficult decision in his life. It was difficult for him and tragic for me, because, from that moment on the chair next to mine, the one that belonged to my father, remained empty.

Irina Savelyeva, Almaty

My grandfather was a monumental artist by profession at the time Tselinny was built. He was engaged in artistic painting of ceilings and walls in large buildings like Palaces of Culture in various villages. My father was his assistant. And they carried out these works on behalf of the Oner Fine Arts Combine. I guess, all the artists of that time were listed in this collective. My grandfather was friends with many of them, some of them visited our home regularly.

Yevgeny Sidorkin, the author of the famous sgraffito in Tselinny, was among them. And my grandfather, as far as I know, took part in its creation. Although, I have no evidence of this (I wasn’t born yet), my grandfather, together with my father, twice carried out restoration work, completely updating the paint on the panels. And in both cases, my grandfather Tomasov Mamikon Tomasovich supervised these works and personally carried them out.

I remember that time with joy, because during that period I was often with them at the site, carrying brushes, climbing the scaffolding, and handing out colors. Once I asked my grandfather for a brush and awkwardly smeared it on the composition, partially ruining it. The brushstroke turned out to be quite strong and bright, my grandfather was upset at me and tried for a long time to fix my blunder. I think that the last restoration was done in 1985 or 1986. And I remember well how I used my time working at the various restorations to watch free movies.

I was watching new releases daily. One was 

, a drama about a mudflow in our mountains and the construction of mudflow protection fortifications of Almaty. I think it was 1979.

Tomas Tomasov, musician, priest, Almaty

It was through Tselinny that I fell in love with Almaty. I had been studying in the city for six months already, but I didn't know anyone and didn't go anywhere. I just spent all day on anatomy and biochemistry books. Winter was so grey and rainy, it was depressing. Somehow, completely by chance, I stumbled upon Tselinny and went to a daytime show. I was simply stunned: the seats were at such a steep angle, and the last rows were so high that it felt not like an ordinary cinema. It was like watching a movie from the top of a mountain!

I was in awe that someone had built such a miracle. The film became secondary. I started going every week, and it really helped me to come to terms with my loneliness and to start “living” the city.

Mila Cassidy, now lives in China

I remember Tselinny from my childhood, from the early 1990s. Those were hard times for the family, we just knew that the cinema was there. When I was older and could have gone, it was already closed. I remember how, riding trolleybus number 9 to the Green Bazaar during my school years, I saw a huge building, but empty and dark. In the early 2000s, when it reopened, I began to visit it. The impression of those years is that it was very crowded, despite being connected only with trolleybus number 9. When they renovated it, I took it well, at least it was working and I could go. From 2004 to around 2011, I visited the cinema very often. Then, it somehow quietly died out and closed. I vividly remember the spectacular opening of the Garage exhibition in Tselinny in 2018.

Adilzhan Psyayev, architect, Almaty

When we launched the project “A Place of Memory: Tselinny”, we asked our readers to share their stories related to the cinema. In the 60 years since its opening, Tselinny accompanied Almaty residents through a number of historical events: from the collapse of the USSR to Kazakhstan’s independence, from the 1990s crisis to the revival of the 2000s.

A Place of Memory
:
The History of the Tselinny Center of Contemporary Culture

The Thaw and The Cinema

The Best Cinema in the Land

From Caligula to Selling Sofas

The Modern History of the Building and Its Future

Recollections

Gallery

Publications on Vlast

The team

A Place of Memory: The History of the Tselinny Center of Contemporary Culture

Recollections

Gallery

Publications on Vlast

The team

A Place of Memory
:
The History of the Tselinny Center of Contemporary Culture