Writer-director Mas Bouzidi taps into thematically familiar ground in his feature film debut Concessions. Not only is it a film about cinemas and the people who frequent them, but it is a film about the end of an era – in this case, the very cinema in question. It may be fair to say most people who see Concessions will see themselves and their lives echoed back at them – not only in its love of films and its melancholy at changing times, but in the petty annoyances, interpersonal disagreements, and tiny intolerances brought about by social and economic challenges.
It is the last day for the Royal Alamo Cinema. After being a neighbourhood institution for years, it just cannot compete with rising rents and costs, and renovating it to keep up with the latest in customer comforts and cinema technology is impractical in the extreme. Its concession stand sells sodas, candies, and popcorn – all overpriced, none very good, and if retro snacks are not to your liking, tough luck. Therefore, the higher powers have decided to shut up shop, leaving its jaded employees high and dry and the eccentric regulars of the Royal Alamo trickling through the doors for one final goodbye, their lives having intersected for so long by circumstance, suddenly disconnected and plunged into the unknown. Is this rejection of a longstanding communal hub and palace of filmic arts truly the end of their dreams? The elegiac mood is boosted by the fact that Concessions is the final film of cult favourite actor Michael Madsen, completed before his death in July 2025. The rest of the cast is comprised of fellow indie darlings (Josh Hamilton) and up-and-coming fresh faces that fit this neighbourly milieu.
This premise is ripe for sentimentality, but Bouzidi cleverly eschews this while respecting every character’s hopes and desires, no matter how trivial or unrealistic. For every glorious memory that will now never be made in front of the Royal Alamo’s screens, and for its rich, textured 16mm cinematography and warm, nostalgic lighting, there is that one annoying customer who asks for off-menu items at the concession stand or refuses to respect the house rules. The jaded staff, nothing left to lose, have no time to cater to these whims. The result is perversely delightful, a fantasy of customer non-service that will ring true for anyone who has worked such thankless roles in the past.
While Concessions was filmed at the Lafayette Theater in Suffern, New York, the Brooklyn-based Bouzidi cites his experience working in New York’s cinemas since the age of sixteen as key inspiration for the film (the director is now 23). Therefore, while Concessions may not be a “New York film” per se, it is clear Bouzidi’s experience working in the city’s cinemas and within the dynamics that develop in pedestrianised communities (the odd unaccompanied child skipping in hoping to buy some candy far below market value would not happen at a multiplex in the suburbs).
In another just-left-of-reality turn, the films shown on the Royal Alamo’s final day are barely credible spoofs of genres, subjects, and their unlikely stars (though Russell Crowe could believably appear in anything). Bouzidi is not content just to title and describe them but also show small clips on screen, adding to the film’s offbeat feel. The standout among these is a musical film about the 27th US President William Howard Taft, heavily featuring his mission to complete construction on the Panama Canal.
As the Taft musical and stale popcorn attest, there is a sense of being out of time or out of step with trends that pervades Concessions. It comes through most poignantly when the Royal Alamo’s workforce realise that, beyond their love of the movies, there is little left to show for their years of dedication to the cinema. When former acquaintances come in to buy tickets, the steady lives they could have had flash before their eyes – if only their loyalty to this creaky old cinema had not stopped them. For those who work in the arts, this reflection is perennial: when cinemas and theatres – notably the independent ones – are one bad season, one bad month, or even one bad week away from closing, is the joy and value they bring to people’s lives worth your own sacrifices? So often, the answer is yes.
Concessions is witty and astutely observed, but it is not always a pleasant watch (though this could be because it skewers film people so accurately). Some monologues about how films just aren’t made like they used to be drag on, even within a brisk 90-minute run time. It is not out of character for these cinephiles to wax lyrical on their favourite deep cuts with an all-encompassing focus excluding the boredom of their listeners, and occasionally the balance of satire slides towards the mean-spirited or just plain insufferable. Bouzidi cites Demy, Altman, and Linklater as some of his cinematic heroes and inspirations in making this film; he might not quite have their affection for humanity weighed off, but this is only his feature debut – he has time to refine and develop his voice and observations on humanity.
Humorous and full of heart, Concessions is a love letter to cinema and cinemas that argues for their vital importance in our lives and our communities – sure, other people are the worst, but it would not be the same watching a musical film about William Howard Taft alone on your sofa. This is a bittersweet eulogy at its most chaotic and charming.
Concessions recently played at the Edinburgh International Film Festival.
Learn more about the title at the EIFF site for the film.
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