As a film historian with a particular interest in the history of independent cinemas I am fascinated by their role in local communities and importance to film culture. Few have been as influential as the original Everyman, said to be the first repertory cinema in the world and a cultural icon both in Hampstead and London-wide.

The Everyman holds many cherished memories for me. I arrived in London in 1973 from small-town life in Scotland. It was a cinephile’s dream, with independent cinemas dotted about the city offering a wide choice of films. The Everyman was great because you could catch up with classic titles which you had never seen. I remember magic seasons of German Expressionism, Bergman and Film Noir in the 1970s, not to mention regular screenings of Everyman staples like The Apu Trilogy and the Marx Brothers.

One of my most vivid memories is of seeing Once Upon a Time in the West in the late 1970s, programmed as part of a season of personal favourites chosen, on his retirement, by the chief projectionist Tom Robinson who had worked at the Everyman since its opening in 1933.

By the 1980s and 90s the Everyman had moved on from a weekly to a daily change of repertory programme, offering double and even triple bills at incredibly cheap prices. I was able to take my pick of fashionable directors from Martin Scorsese to Krzysztof Kieslovski and Woody Allen or thematic pairings such as Last Tango in Paris with the silent film Paris qui Dort.

The Everyman experience was distinctive. It was a ‘bare bones’ cinema with none of the frills, such as adverts, trailers or refreshments, to be found in the chains or West End independents. Yet, despite its austere and somewhat shabby ambience, it boasted its own gallery space with changing displays of the works of local Hampstead artists.

The surrounding neighbourhood in the 1980s and 1990s still held on to the artistic, bohemian identity of the old Hampstead and I remember repairing with friends to the Flask pub or Bacchus’s Greek restaurant next door for a post-film discussion. In the late 80s the Everyman converted the basement into an atmospheric bar/restaurant open every night until 11pm and frequented by assorted locals as well as film goers.

Jump start to the Everyman today and a visit to the cinema continues to reveal much about its past. Despite the trademark features of the Everyman chain – luxurious sofa seating with waiter service, stylish art deco design and swish lounges – the building cannot conceal its Victorian drill hall origins.

The main hall, which became the auditorium, still retains the wooden and iron vaulted ceiling, largely untouched since 1888. The large basement where community entertainments, including early cinematograph shows, took place is now home to the second screen. The foyer which once housed the cinema’s art gallery has become another lounge area and on the upper floors there is a third screen for private hire.

A walk through these spaces calls up many friendly ghosts from the past, not least from the 1920s when it became the Everyman Theatre, famous for its experimental versions of plays not considered acceptable in the West End. The basement became the changing rooms and social meeting place where aspiring young actors such as Edith Evans, Sybil Thorndike and Claude Rains gathered around the Victorian kitchen range.

Then in 1933, the now failing theatre was converted into a cinema under the management of Jim Fairfax-Jones. Along with his wife Tess he gave the Everyman cinema its unique identity. For them running the cinema for 40 years was a true labour of love. Jim’s repertory programming, a new idea in the 1930s, relied on second-run films and old classics.

After a couple of years he realised the potential for foreign language films which had more or less disappeared from British cinemas in the new sound era. He pioneered the programming of film seasons, and thereby promoted directors from René Clair, through Orson Welles in the 1950s to Japanese cinema and the French New Wave in the 60s. The Everyman seasons, popular with locals and Londoners alike, are remembered by many lovers of cinema as their education in film history.

Fairfax-Jones’s death in 1973 marked the end of an era. But The Everyman continued to attract audiences and retain its reputation for cheap films and creative programming until the 1990s. But by that time running an independent cinema had become a risky business, especially with the popularity of home videos.

Eventually in 2000 the Everyman Hampstead became the mother cinema of a chain of ‘boutique cinemas’, with their emphasis on comfort and hospitality and accompanying high prices.

But I really miss the old Everyman, a place of enjoyment, community and enlightenment, where the diverse films you were introduced to made you think differently.

Long live independent cinemas and those who run them!