Cinémathèque française

Stand for a moment at the edge of the Parc de Bercy and look up. Pale limestone curves and folds above you, as if a block of stone had started to melt and then changed its mind. A zinc roof catches the grey Paris light. Behind you, leaves move in the park, and a train rumbles somewhere below the city. This is the Cinémathèque française, one of the oldest and most important film archives in the world.

The building is unusual. On the street side it looks fairly calm, with straight lines and regular windows. On the park side it changes completely. The facade bends, leans and stacks into shapes that look almost unstable. The architect was Frank Gehry, the Canadian-American designer later known for the Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao. Here you can see an early version of his ideas — buildings that look as if they are in motion.

Here is the first surprise. Gehry did not design this building for cinema at all. It opened in 1994 as the American Center, a cultural space for American art and performance in Paris. The project ran into money problems, and it closed after only a few years. For a while the strange stone building stood mostly empty. Then, in 2005, the Cinémathèque moved in, and the building finally found its long-term purpose.

The story of the institution itself begins much earlier, in 1936. A young man named Henri Langlois, together with friends including the filmmaker Georges Franju, decided that films were being lost. Back then, studios often destroyed old prints. Many people saw films as disposable entertainment, not as art. Langlois disagreed completely. He began collecting reels from anyone who would give them to him, and he never really stopped.

There is a practical reason his work mattered so much. Early film was printed on nitrate stock, a material that is highly flammable and slowly decays. A forgotten can of film in a cellar could turn to dust or catch fire. Langlois collected these fragile reels with enormous energy. Stories about him are part of film folklore. Legend has it that he stored films in his own bathtub when he ran out of space.

Locals and film historians also tell another story. During the German occupation of Paris in the Second World War, Langlois and his allies are said to have hidden films that the occupying authorities wanted to suppress or destroy. The exact details vary from one telling to another, so treat them as the stuff of legend. But the spirit is true to the man. To Langlois, every film deserved to survive.

Now for the second surprise. This archive helped to create a whole movement in cinema. In the 1950s, a group of young film lovers sat night after night in the Cinémathèque's screening rooms. Among them were François Truffaut and Jean-Luc Godard. They watched silent films, American westerns and forgotten European works side by side. Out of those dark rooms came the French New Wave — a fresh, free style of filmmaking that changed cinema around the world.

The archive even played a part in French political history. In early 1968, the Ministry of Culture removed Langlois from his post. The reaction was immediate. Directors, critics and students protested in the streets. Filmmakers from France and abroad refused to let their films be shown without him. Within weeks, Langlois was back. Many historians see this episode as one of the sparks before the larger protests of May 1968 in France.

Before coming to Bercy, the Cinémathèque lived in several homes. For many years it was based at the Palais de Chaillot, across the city near the Eiffel Tower. Moving into this building brought the collection, the screening rooms and the exhibition spaces under one roof. Later, the film library and research centre joined it here too. Today, scholars, students and ordinary film lovers all pass through the same entrance.

Inside, the building is a place for watching as much as looking. There are several cinemas, and the largest one carries the name of Henri Langlois. Programmes change constantly. On one evening you might find a silent film with live music. On another, a retrospective of a single director, or a restored print of a film few people have ever seen on a big screen. Many screenings come from the archive's own vaults.

The museum floors hold objects from the history of moving images. You can see early devices from before cinema existed — optical toys, magic lanterns, machines that made pictures appear to move. There are costumes, posters, drawings and set designs. The archive is especially connected with Georges Méliès, the French magician and filmmaker who created early fantasy films full of trick effects. His imaginative world sits close to the heart of this collection.

Temporary exhibitions also fill the building. Over the years they have focused on individual directors, actors, film genres and moments in cinema history. These shows often bring together scripts, photographs, props and film clips in large, dark rooms. If you enjoy film, check what is on before you visit. The temporary exhibition is often the main reason people travel across Paris to this corner of the city.

When you step back outside, take another look at the park side of the building. Watch how the light moves over the folded stone as clouds pass. Notice the people sitting on the grass nearby, unaware that they are next to millions of frames of film history. Somewhere inside, a projector may be running right now. As you walk away into the Parc de Bercy, listen to the city — and imagine the films still waiting in the dark to be seen again.