The mysterious cinema discovered in the tunnels of the Paris catacombs
Snaking beneath the over 2,000 acres of subterranean Paris is a vast network of catacombs, mass graves hosting approximately six million brittle corpses, enough to disorient any spiritual medium worth their salt. Indeed, whether you’re a believer in ghouls and malevolent spirits or not, you can be sure that there’s at least one former claustrophobe situated directly beneath a novelty pâtisserie.
A portion of these catacombs have been separated off for morbid tourists to explore the liminal land of the dead, but punters are restricted from entering the majority of the tunnels. Still, if there’s a will, there’s a way, and self-titled ‘cataphiles’ dare to navigate the restricted passages for the sheer thrill of it or for a price to tourists wanting to experience the more rustic side of the catacombs.
Such has led to a variety of peculiar occurrences over the decades, including underground picnics and parties, alleged orgies and much more. Yet, perhaps the most fascinating thing to have ever been discovered in the darkness of the Paris catacombs is a fully functioning cinema fit with a rather ingenious underground restaurant and bar, baffling the law enforcement who discovered it.
“We have no idea whatsoever,” a police spokesman later remarked as to who built the cinema, “We don’t think it’s extremists. Some sect or secret society, maybe. There are any number of possibilities”.
Coming across the space while taking part in a police training exercise, the officers were understandably rattled by the cinema’s appearance, being a large cavern emblazoned with symbols and messages. “There were two swastikas painted on the ceiling,” the spokesperson added, “But also Celtic crosses and several stars of David, so we don’t think it’s extremists. Some sect or secret society, maybe. There are any number of possibilities”.
Disguised as an entrance to a building site, with the words ‘No Access’ scribbled across a tarpaulin, once the officers parted the makeshift curtain, they were greeted with a number of traps that would make Kevin Mac Allister proud. First, a motion sensor set off a video camera that recorded the passing trespassers, then the audio of a barking dog designed to send intruders packing would play, with the two-pronged attack hoping to protect the subterranean picture house.
Past the rudimentary traps, they found “an underground amphitheatre, with terraces cut into the rock and chairs,” fitted with a full-sized screen, projection equipment and a range of the same kind of perfectly legal movies that you’d find at an overground multiplex. A bar and restaurant space in a small cave beside it, which included “whisky and other spirits behind a bar, tables and chairs, a pressure-cooker for making couscous”.
Most curious was the professionally installed electricity supply, which prompted experts from the power board to revisit the spot three days later to understand how the cinema lovers were making their projector work. Yet, when they returned, the phone and electricity lines had been cut, and most of the items had been taken. All that was left was a note in the middle of the rudimentary foyer that simply read, “Do not try to find us”.
A sinister cult or an innocent underground kino-loving club? You decide.
