Last month I met Andrew Woodyatt, the Rio’s in-house historian and archivist, for a closer look inside. Andrew’s worked in the cinema and film business his whole career and has had various roles at the Rio since 2015. His Pink Palace film club provides a weekly celebration of queer cinema.

As we walked through the Rio Andrew pointed out countless details. The seats in the stalls weren’t even new when they were installed here in the 1990s! That 1930s light fixture in the lobby was originally at the Regal, Highams Park!

You know you’ve met someone who knows the history of a building intimately when they can talk at length about fading paint specks and vintage electrical wiring.

As we explored the projection booth and the room where the marquee letters that still change weekly are stored Andrew enquired, “How’s your head for heights?” Reassuring him that I have no issues with vertigo, he asked if I wanted to go onto the roof and then see what’s hidden above the Rio’s ceiling. “What is there?” “Remnants of the original Kingsland Empire…”

The Rio as we know it today opened in 1937, designed by a master of art deco cinemas Frank Bromige. But the cinema really dates back to 1909 when Hackney entrepreneur Clara Ludski rebuilt her auction house at 105 Kingsland High Street into a 175 seat cinema (the Rio’s current screen 2 occupies the exact same space and is named after Clara). It was so successful that a year later Ludski expanded next door, rechristening the new, larger cinema the Kingsland Palace of Animated Pictures.

In 1915 Clara rebuilt the cinema again. Designed by Percy Adams and George Coles, the new Kingsland Empire boasted more than 1,200 seats in the stalls and an incredibly steep circle under a beautiful domed ceiling.

Remarkably, its remains are still visible today.

We were joined on our climb up to the roof by the Rio’s executive director Rosie Greatorex and operations manager Sylvie Dumont, neither of whom had ventured up here before. As we went through a small door and then gingerly descended a ladder, what’s left of the 1915 cinema became visible through a row of iron beams. I heard Rosie whisper, “I feel like I’m exploring the wreck of the Titanic.”

While Rosie made comparisons to the Titanic, as I looked down on what’s left of the decorative proscenium arch, sculptured wall plasterwork and crumbling dome, I thought of a 1920s archeologist letting light into a pharaoh’s tomb for the first time in thousands of years. Imagining the thousands of locals who’d have sat where we were carefully standing, watching silent movies that also probably no longer exist, was an emotional rush.

It was a rare treat to get such access and I’m grateful to Andrew for being so generous with his time.

I doubt an insurance policy exists that would allow me to take a tour group into that space so you’ll just have to make do with these photos. But next time you’re inside screen 1 at the Rio, look up at that beautiful 1930s curved ceiling and now you’ll know what’s above it.