ARENACINE

A Night in Beverly with Tarantino
By Nicolás Taylor

On Beverly Blvd, nestled between vintage cafés and old-school auto shops with hand-painted signs, sits one of the most authentic film temples in Los Angeles: the New Beverly Cinema. A neighborhood theater that, in an era of algorithms and touchscreens, keeps the analog movie-going experience alive, thanks to the vision of a cinephile turned icon: Quentin Tarantino.

Since taking over the venue in 2007, first as a quiet savior, then as an obsessive curator, Tarantino has transformed the New Beverly into more than just a cinema. It’s a celebration. With 35mm prints, double features, and a lineup steeped in cult classics, the place has become a hub for cinephiles, nostalgics, and a new wave of viewers looking for something more than just a movie.they’re looking for a ritual.

The theater holds onto its original charm: a manually updated marquee, framed vintage posters, and a lobby that smells of fresh popcorn and celluloid. Screenings are often packed. Whether it’s Reservoir Dogs, a spaghetti western, or a forgotten '80s comedy, the seats fill up. Some arrive dressed for the occasion, others applaud during the credits, and many linger after the lights come up, like members of a secret society bound by their love of cinema.

Tarantino may not be there in person every night, but his presence is felt in every detail. In the programming, in the quality of the prints, in the fierce defense of film as a physical medium. In many ways, the New Beverly is an extension of his filmmaking: vibrant, eclectic, full of references, and deeply in love with the past while staying connected to the now.

In a constantly evolving Los Angeles, this stretch of Beverly Blvd seems resistant to time. And maybe that’s its greatest strength: a reminder that cinema, in its purest form, is still a collective, imperfect, magical experience. Something that happens in the dark of a theater, not alone, on a screen in your hand.

A Night in Beverly with Tarantino
By Nicolás Taylor

On Beverly Blvd, nestled between vintage cafés and old-school auto shops with hand-painted signs, sits one of the most authentic film temples in Los Angeles: the New Beverly Cinema. A neighborhood theater that, in an era of algorithms and touchscreens, keeps the analog movie-going experience alive, thanks to the vision of a cinephile turned icon: Quentin Tarantino.

Since taking over the venue in 2007, first as a quiet savior, then as an obsessive curator, Tarantino has transformed the New Beverly into more than just a cinema. It’s a celebration. With 35mm prints, double features, and a lineup steeped in cult classics, the place has become a hub for cinephiles, nostalgics, and a new wave of viewers looking for something more than just a movie.they’re looking for a ritual.

The theater holds onto its original charm: a manually updated marquee, framed vintage posters, and a lobby that smells of fresh popcorn and celluloid. Screenings are often packed. Whether it’s Reservoir Dogs, a spaghetti western, or a forgotten '80s comedy, the seats fill up. Some arrive dressed for the occasion, others applaud during the credits, and many linger after the lights come up, like members of a secret society bound by their love of cinema.

Tarantino may not be there in person every night, but his presence is felt in every detail. In the programming, in the quality of the prints, in the fierce defense of film as a physical medium. In many ways, the New Beverly is an extension of his filmmaking: vibrant, eclectic, full of references, and deeply in love with the past while staying connected to the now.

In a constantly evolving Los Angeles, this stretch of Beverly Blvd seems resistant to time. And maybe that’s its greatest strength: a reminder that cinema, in its purest form, is still a collective, imperfect, magical experience. Something that happens in the dark of a theater, not alone, on a screen in your hand.

A Night in Beverly with Tarantino
By Nicolás Taylor

On Beverly Blvd, nestled between vintage cafés and old-school auto shops with hand-painted signs, sits one of the most authentic film temples in Los Angeles: the New Beverly Cinema. A neighborhood theater that, in an era of algorithms and touchscreens, keeps the analog movie-going experience alive, thanks to the vision of a cinephile turned icon: Quentin Tarantino.

Since taking over the venue in 2007, first as a quiet savior, then as an obsessive curator, Tarantino has transformed the New Beverly into more than just a cinema. It’s a celebration. With 35mm prints, double features, and a lineup steeped in cult classics, the place has become a hub for cinephiles, nostalgics, and a new wave of viewers looking for something more than just a movie.they’re looking for a ritual.

The theater holds onto its original charm: a manually updated marquee, framed vintage posters, and a lobby that smells of fresh popcorn and celluloid. Screenings are often packed. Whether it’s Reservoir Dogs, a spaghetti western, or a forgotten '80s comedy, the seats fill up. Some arrive dressed for the occasion, others applaud during the credits, and many linger after the lights come up, like members of a secret society bound by their love of cinema.

Tarantino may not be there in person every night, but his presence is felt in every detail. In the programming, in the quality of the prints, in the fierce defense of film as a physical medium. In many ways, the New Beverly is an extension of his filmmaking: vibrant, eclectic, full of references, and deeply in love with the past while staying connected to the now.

In a constantly evolving Los Angeles, this stretch of Beverly Blvd seems resistant to time. And maybe that’s its greatest strength: a reminder that cinema, in its purest form, is still a collective, imperfect, magical experience. Something that happens in the dark of a theater, not alone, on a screen in your hand.