The Projector’s sudden closure reminds us that its heart lives in the people, not just the cinema.
The Projector shocked us with its sudden closure, shutting its doors right after a glorious comeback at Golden Mile Tower. The en bloc saga fizzled, the beanbags were back, and then suddenly… curtains. To say that I was surprised is an understatement – I was shooketh. The most famous alternative cinema in Singapore, gone forever? That’s a plot twist more brutal than La La Land’s ending. The silence still feels deafening for those who called it home.
The news hit me hard, and I wasn’t alone. So I spoke to fellow fans who loved The Projector about what made it unforgettable. This is a tribute to the iconic cinema that became a community… and why The Projector’s closure still stings.
The Projector: Where alternative films found a home
In 2014, a local film was classified as “not allowed for all ratings” due to themes deemed to undermine Singapore’s national security – a reminder that bold, challenging stories had few places to be seen. Back then, cinephiles didn’t have many options for niche, alternative films.
That changed when The Projector opened. A cosy, neon-lit indie cinema in Golden Mile Tower, it screened daring titles and became a playground for film lovers to gather, geek out, and discover new favourites.
Mark Peregrino (aka Mick Pilgrim on social media), a film producer currently based in Singapore, likens The Projector to film school. “It’s where we got to discover many titles and filmmakers that we may not have known about if we just depended on what’s being shown in mainstream cinemas or what’s trending on streaming platforms,” he tells me.
I’ve lost count of the screenings, festivals, and wild little film experiments that took place at The Projector. (I’d even planned to catch Perfect Blue – the cult classic everyone pretends to “totally get” – but that’s never happening now.) The thing is, it was never only about watching movies. It was about being part of something alive, messy, and ours.
“It’s like going to a friend’s house party and everyone’s watching a movie together,” says social media content creator Samantha Lek. That’s what made The Projector different: it wasn’t a place you went to alone, even if you walked in solo. I recall watching Love, Simon there, and during a pivotal scene, you could hear sobs filling the theatre. A full room of strangers crying collectively, and somehow it felt like we’d all known each other forever.
A safe haven for communities
Over the years, that scrappy, house party vibe didn’t just survive… it scaled. Eventually, The Projector grew into a safe space for communities to come together and host events that mainstream venues would never touch. I attended Pink Dot’s launch event there in 2016. Sitting in the theatre, I realised this was more than a cinema – it was a home for stories and communities with nowhere else to go. Since then, the space has hosted drag shows, queer art, and political dialogues. It even livestreamed the recent general elections!
“The Projector means a lot to different people,” Samantha notes. “As a film buff, it was a place for me to geek out while supporting causes I care about, like the screenings of Palestinian films where proceeds go towards Gaza. For my queer friends, it was a place that made them feel seen and safe.”
Recent graduate Parigya Arya says the space was her “little escape” when things got overwhelming. “Like how some people go to the beach to reset, I’d go to The Projector. It gave me that same sense of peace and change of scenery,” she explains.
As for Mark, The Projector was more than a movie-watching venue. The staff knew his name, remembered his orders, and supported his creative projects. “It meant a lot to feel seen by the staff – not just as someone who goes there a lot, but as part of their community,” he shares. To him, The Projector was where he finally felt like he belonged, a steady light in an expat’s fleeting years.
The sudden cut to black
The Projector’s sudden closure was a 180-degree turn from its announcement earlier in August, when the indie cinema declared its triumphant return to Golden Mile Tower and reopened the space for screenings. We’ve always assumed that when something beloved comes back, it’ll keep going forever. Instead, we got whiplash: a sudden, jaw-dropping closure that made every post, tribute, and memory hit harder.
Naturally, fans were left confused and understandably upset, flooding their socials with tributes about what The Projector meant to them. Mark even poured his heart out on Instagram, calling it his second home and sharing memories that read less like a goodbye post and more like losing a piece of himself.
I’ll admit, when I first read the news, I thought it was satire, typical of how The Projector handles posts on social media. How do you come back just to vanish… forever? For a hot second, I sat there imagining the empty creaky seats, and my own first screening, and felt gutted. It was like the city lost a piece of its cultural heart, a space that made us feel we bonded as one in the room.
“This closure hits home for a lot of people. It feels like Singapore has lost a small but meaningful piece of soul,” Parigya says. Samantha concurs, adding that The Projector has become collateral damage of inflation and our hyper-digitalised era.
A petition soon began circulating, urging the Ministry of Culture, Community, and Youth (MCCY) and the Ministry of Digital Development and Information (MDDI) to step in. There were even tongue-in-cheek quips about using the new SG Culture Pass to help chip away at The Projector’s $1.2 million debt.
But not all posts were sentimental. Some pointed out how people only seemed to show up in grief when they’d barely supported the cinema while it was alive. It was a bittersweet mix: the outpouring of love mingled with frustration, proof that The Projector wasn’t merely a place to watch films, but a pulse you didn’t know you were part of, until it started skipping beats.
It ain’t over till it’s over
We all thought the closure was the final nail in the coffin, but nothing’s final till the supporters show up. A couple of days after the shock announcement, a few party collectives who’ve held events at The Projector bandied together for one last song.
The farewell shindig was chaotic, in the best way possible. The space still looked the same as ever: neon lights, whirring machines, and plenty of life. Amidst it all were signs highlighting the indie cinema’s end of days, looming over partygoers as a reminder. There was a snaking queue for drinks, many raised their cups, and the floor was packed with sweaty bodies, singing along to the tracks at the top of their lungs.
I found myself smack in the middle of it all – part observer, part participant, fully aware that only The Projector could pull off a night like this. The air buzzed with wild joy, everyone dancing like it was a victory lap, but you could still taste the bittersweet sting under the neon glow. I danced, laughed, and felt a pang of melancholy all at once. This wasn’t simply the closing of a venue, but the end of an era I’d been lucky to witness.
When the DJ dropped The Wannadies’ You and Me, it suddenly hit: this was a raucous celebration and a soft, collective sigh. We were partying the cinema out of existence, and somehow it felt perfect.
A cinematic heartbeat that won’t fade
Even after its “passing,” The Projector still pulses in the hearts of its fans. Socials are alive with tributes, memories, and curated photos. Accounts like @theprojectorforever keep the cinema’s legacy alive, sharing everything from behind-the-scenes moments to ticket stubs that have become small relics of a beloved era. It’s clear: The Projector might have shuttered its doors, but it hasn’t left the city’s imagination.
I asked my interviewees about their favourite Projector memories, and the answers brimmed with the same mix of joy and nostalgia that the cinema evoked. Samantha claims she’ll miss the women’s toilet (“Wallpapered with movie posters, it was the spot for mirror selfies with your friends”), while Parigya reminisces about the chaos at the snack bar, especially at night.
Mark’s reflection highlights what made The Projector special on a deeper level. “I felt validated as a creative and a cinephile, knowing they value my work (as a pseudo photographer turned content creator) and my thoughts. I always loved it when they would pick my brain about certain films that could potentially be part of their line-up,” he shares.
At its core, The Projector was never only about movies. It was about the found community that turned a simple indie cinema into a heartbeat — the laughter, the sobs, the neon-lit conversations, and the people who kept showing up together.
The Projector’s closure isn’t just a hit to nostalgia. It’s a reminder of how vital it is to have daring, alternative storytelling spaces in Singapore. Our arts scene has already lost too many icons. Losing this one leaves a gaping void in the cultural landscape. It also sparks a question: who will champion the indie, the bold, and the experimental next?
Watching the community rally, share memories, and toast to The Projector reminded me why places like this matter: they shape who we are as a cultural city. Its legacy is a call to keep supporting local arts and never let such a unique heartbeat fade quietly into the night. Once it’s gone, there’s no rewind button.
I’ll be there, tickets in hand, cheering on the next bold experiment. And you should be too.
