The question surfaced during a winter evening in Multan, as my mother and I sat burning wood to keep warm. She was scrolling through social media feed, pausing occasionally to reminisce about the city. She said it once had more than twenty cinemas that regularly drew crowds. Entertainment for her generation, she said, was not confined to a handheld screen.

Today, there is only one fully functional cinema. The rest exist mostly in patrons’ memory. For me, cinema in Multan has been something I have known largely through tales told by elders. Both my parents have fond memories of a time when going to the cinema was a social ritual.

The contrast between those memories and the present feels unsettling. If so many cinemas once operated in the city, what happened to those? Also, what has replaced them and what has been lost along the way?

Compelled by curiosity, I set aside a day from an otherwise hectic work week to trace what remained of Multan’s cinema culture; to walk through the places where screens once lit up; and to see, firsthand, what remains after so many cinema halls stopped functioning.

reamland still stands where it has always stood. The structure is intact, but a dhaaba has taken over most of the space where cinema-goers once gathered ahead of a show. The view from the street - people seated in small groups – still feels lively. However, this impression is an illusion.

Inside, flocks of pigeons occupy most corners. The place feels less like an abandoned cinema house and more like a haunted archive of memories.

“There is nobody inside, madam,” says Muhammad Sajjad, the guard.

“If you are looking for people, you might find some during Eid holidays,” he adds. “Only on those occasions, does this hall feel a bit like the past.”

As he leads us upstairs, Sajjad starts describing what Dreamland was like. “I have lived within these walls for 40 years,” he says. “There was a time when everyone here was doing well. Even until 2020, the cinema was doing well. After the Covid-19 epidemic, however, the business collapsed.”

The main hall is vast and silent. “Urdu and Punjabi films used to be screened here,” he recalls. “Films starring Shaan, Shabnam, Reema, Nargis… name any artist, their films were screened here.”
Built in 1962, Dreamland Cinema was once considered one of Multan’s finest. Many families regularly attended film screenings. At its peak, the city had 22 cinemas. Now 62-years-old, Muhammad Sajjad entered Multan’s cinema world at the age of 22 and never left Dreamland. He says he considers it his second home. “I once worked here as a booking clerk,” he says. “Now that nothing is left, I have stayed on as a guard.”

li Raza, aged 50, sits next to the dhaaba. Sipping his tea, he recalls the last time he watched a film in one of Multan’s cinemas. “It was in 2010,” he says, “at Kiran Cinema. Families, children included, would come together to watch films. Those were the days when Sultan Rahi’s films dominated the screens.”

He goes on to name several cinemas across the city, places that were not only sources of entertainment but also spaces where people gathered, socialised and spent time together. “There was hardly a cinema where I did not watch a film,” he says. “There are still a few of them, but the experience is no longer the same.”

As one approaches Bohar Gate from the Haram Gate side, there is a vast parking space on the right. Inside Radhu Cinema, film posters still line the walls. These are movies no will likely watch any longer.

Muhammad Zahid, who is helping people park their cars, says this was one of the earliest cinemas in the city. Today, the huge building serves as storage space local shopkeepers.

Its history dates back to 1856-57. The current manager, Rana Imran, says that the cinema was built by a Hindu businessman. “Even now, on Fridays, 15 to 20 people come here. We play a film for them. However, the cinema is mostly deserted.”

Standing behind Shaheen Market, Dawn Cinema was one of the earliest built after independence. The establishment prided itself in screening quality films. Today, the space is used for parking area and doubles as a warehouse.

“We don’t even know what will happen to this building. It has been locked ever since it was shut down,” says one of the workers. He says he now works for bicycle manufacturer operating within the warehouse. “There is no cinema here anymore,” he says. “It’s just the building.”

Kiran Cinema is right next to Dawn Cinema. The two were often referred to as ‘twin cinemas.’ The Kiran building is now used for parking and other commercial purposes.

In Multan’s old cantonment, Imperial Cinema, had existed even before the Partition. From its inception to its closure, the cinema remained largely unchanged in terms of structure and style. For many years, it screened Hollywood films. Today, a large clothing store occupies the building. The square is still known as Imperial Chowk.

As one drives from Ghanta Ghar toward Kutchery Chowk, about halfway along the route, on the left side of the road, once stood Babar Cinema. The building was destroyed by fire so that nothing remains of it.
On the road from Nawan Shehar Chowk to Dera Adda, Starlet Cinema once rose on the right, beside Firdous Hotel. Its architecture, open and spacious, made it a city landmark. While films are no longer shown here, the building continues to function as a theatre.

Just opposite the General Post Office stands Rex Cinema and Theatre, one of the city’s only two functioning cinemas. “I started working in the cinema industry when I was 16, back when there were many cinemas,” recalls Khalid Ghauri. “I used to come to watch films. Then I developed interest in projection. I learnt how to run a film, and today, I work at Rex Cinema.” Rex now operates for a limited audience, mostly men.
Other popular cinemas in Multan included Crown, Hashmat Mahal, Taj Mahal, Anjuman, Zenith, Capri, Citizen, Noshab, Naz, Khayyam, Garrison Cinema and Shalimar.

Universal Cinema still welcoms audiences of all ages, families too, and is keeping the city’s film culture alive.

Many of these buildings, that were once celebrated for their grandeur and the crowds they drew night after night, face an uncertain future. “For sale” signs now hang outside some of these buildings.

The writer is a freelance multimedia journalist in Multan.