How to kill a Merseyside theatre

How do you kill a beloved building?

Simple – let the bastard rot. A decades-long conspiracy of incompetence, neglect, philistinism and greed finally brought down the Futurist cinema on Lime Street nine years ago. The ghost of its Edwardian façade is now gracelessly conjured by a two-dimensional scribble across the ugliest new building in all of Britain.

Only three years younger than the Futurist is the Garston Empire. The Theatres Trust — the national advice and advocacy body — has the Empire listed on its register of theatres threatened by closure due to severe structural or safety issues or stalled redevelopment proposals. A stocky, irregular redbrick corner-block, the Empire cannot boast the cartouches, Classical alabaster pediment, and Tuscan pilasters that once made the Futurist such a treasured addition to Lime Street, but then again, it wasn’t built for quite the same purpose.

Born in that fleeting moment after the Edwardian stage boom but just before the 1909 Cinematographic Act could trigger an equivalent explosion in movie theatres, the Empire was designed as a “ciné-variety house” that could accommodate both plays and films. After only three years as a stage theatre, the Empire became a full-time silent-film cinema in 1918 — still a fine use for its circle, stalls, and stage boxes of over a thousand seats in all.

The Empire was a ‘fleapit.’ A term of insult, perhaps, yet strangely (if patronisingly) utopian in concept: a space where working-class communities could consume and contribute to popular culture.

According to the Merseyside Civic Society, a charitable body that aims to conserve structures of historic and/or public interest, the Empire was a “fleapit.” A term of insult, perhaps, yet strangely (if patronisingly) utopian in concept: a space where working-class communities could consume and contribute to popular culture. Bourgeois socialists may therefore be dismayed to learn that, between 1962 and when it closed for good in 2009, the Empire served Garston only as a bingo hall. But according to the Theatres Trust, that three-decade use helped preserve its original decoration and features.

A statement by the Merseyside Civic Society points out that the Garston Empire’s architectural significance lies in the fact that almost none of these ciné-variety houses remain standing in the UK – fewer than twenty, the Theatres Trust estimates.

Another endangered Merseyside stage on the trusts’ list is the Garrick Theatre in Southport. An elegant Art Deco masterpiece in brown brick and Portland stone, the building was advertised as the most beautiful theatre in Europe upon its 1932 opening. An all-purpose live venue designed to host ballet, opera, musicals, or touring drama, the Garrick was the gem in Southport’s cultural crown for decades. If architecture really is frozen music, the Garston Empire would be a suggestive vaudeville ditty and the Garrick a synth-pop symphony.

In the late 1950s, attempts to turn the Garrick Theatre into a cinema were unsuccessful. In 1963 – a year after the Garston Empire became a bingo hall – the Garrick Theatre followed suit. In March 2020, Mecca Bingo were forced to close the hall due to COVID restrictions, and in 2021 it was confirmed the venue would not reopen.

But the most familiar item to Liverpudlians on the Theatre Trust’s at-risk list will be the Epstein Theatre on Hanover Street. Originally opened Crane's Music Hall in 1913, the story of the Epstein – or the Neptune, as it was known from 1968 to 2005, when it was renamed after the Beatles’ famous manager – is one of controversial closings, costly refurbs, byzantine ownership models, and grand re-openings. In 2018, with the theatre in trouble again, Epstein Entertainments Ltd was awarded the contract to operate the theatre on behalf of the council. But finally, in 2023, the Epstein’s stay of execution ended. Liverpool Council dropped the axe, ending the financial support that had sustained the theatre as part of its budget cuts.

Television star and Kensington-born Joe McGann – brother to Paul, Mark, and Stephen – lamented its demise, making the point to the BBC that the venue was unique in the city centre in bridging a gap between smaller stages and the mighty Liverpool Empire. More than 13,000 people signed a petition to save the benighted theatre, to no apparent avail. Last year, the head lease of the building was acquired by property company JSM. No Liverpudlian will be unduly shocked to learn that the new landlord plans to convert the office space above the theatre into flats.

Everyone, seemingly, agrees that the Epstein should not have been allowed to close. Nobody – except perhaps property developers and purveyors of that mythical animal, the “luxury two-bed apartment” – wants to see it, or the Garston Empire or the Garrick Theatre, go the same way as the Futurist. It’s galling to see so much talent around Merseyside with nowhere to perform, and three spaces built for that purpose lying fallow. But what could’ve saved them?

It’s galling to see so much talent around Merseyside with nowhere to perform, and three spaces built for that purpose lying fallow.

“Heritage” is a funny word. Increasingly, it seems to mean “things we don’t use, but don’t want to lose.” Architectural elegists often have the air of nominal Anglicans dismayed the village chapel they never attended has become a countryside hostel for hen weekends. Nobody – be they drama company, cinema chain, or bingo operator – has yet found a sustainable model for these theatres. By the time it shut, the Epstein was being subsidised to the tune of £100,000 a year, which the council found to be an unaffordable luxury.

What does the Theatres Trust have to say about possible solutions? I’m afraid we couldn’t tell you. When a publicist working for the Trust emailed The Post with news about Liverpool venues on the Theatres at Risk Register for 2025, offering an interview with their director, Joshua McTaggart, as well as regional spokespeople for the theatres, we got back to them to take them up on the offer; mysteriously, however, the trust’s PR team said nobody has capacity to speak to us. We wish them well in their time of formless difficulty.

But let’s say, for argument’s sake, their (and my) fondest wishes were granted, and Liverpool and Southport councils – their war-chests suddenly overflowing – gave the Garston, the Garrick, and the Epstein blank cheques to lavishly refurbish and re-open as halls for bleeding-edge stage drama, contributed to and patronised by local writers, actors, stage designers, light technicians, costume makers, and dramaturgs. What would stop them from once again falling into economic unviability, disuse, and disrepair all over again?

The truth is that for too long theatre has been held hostage by the culture industry, packaged and prohibitively priced as an upper-middle-class pursuit. The 20^th century attempts of Brecht, Artaud, and Birkenhead’s own John McGrath to develop a popular and affordable drama were ruthlessly thwarted by class gatekeepers. Just listen to poet and spoken-word performer Kae Tempest’s account of the hostile reception she received in her teens when attending a performance of Samuel Beckett’s Endgame.

The truth is that for too long theatre has been held hostage by the culture industry, packaged and prohibitively priced as an upper-middle-class pursuit.

The answer to the city’s theatre woes may lie in the Garston Empire’s origins. The local community group, Friends of Garston Empire, at one point had ambitions to return the building to its dramatic roots as a community-run theatre. Why not, since councils and corporations have proved such inept custodians? And if the properties could be appropriately maintained, would it be so impossible for the Garrick and the Epstein to be similarly reclaimed and repurposed as “fleapits”? Such projects have already found success in the Baltic – not the triangular hinterland between Wapping and Queens Dock, but in Latvia, Lithuania, and Estonia, where participatory and egalitarian urban collectives and art communes often went hand-in-hand with the appropriation of disused spaces since the financial crash of 2008.

This may seem like a utopian ideal. It’s actually calling a bluff. If locals, national trusts, artists, and councillors want these buildings to survive and thrive, let’s get together and talk. What have we got to lose? We already tore the future down.