National Museum of Cinema

Tilt your head back. Far above you, the inside of a vast dome rises into shadow, and a thin glass box slides silently up through the empty air. Around you, the light is low and coloured, like the moment before a film begins. Somewhere a projector hums. Red lounge chairs sit in the middle of the floor, and people lie back in them and stare upward. This is the National Museum of Cinema in Turin, and it lives inside one of the strangest buildings in Italy.

First, the building itself. Locals call it the Mole Antonelliana. In Italian, mole means a massive structure, a great bulk of masonry. The second word comes from its architect, Alessandro Antonelli. From almost anywhere in the city, you can see its square dome and the long, needle-like spire on top. At around 167 metres, it was for a time counted among the tallest brick buildings in the world. Many Italians carry a picture of it in their pocket without thinking. The Mole appears on the Italian two-cent euro coin.

Here is the first surprise. This tower was never meant for cinema. Work began in the 1860s, and the building was planned as a synagogue for Turin's Jewish community. Antonelli, however, kept making the design taller and more ambitious. Costs grew, and the community stepped away from the project. The city of Turin took it over instead. The structure was finished in the late 1880s, and for a long time it served as a monument without a clear purpose.

Antonelli's engineering was bold, and some people doubted it would stand. The dome and spire are tall and slender for brick and stone. In 1953, a violent storm brought down the upper part of the spire. It was rebuilt later, with a stronger internal structure. So when you see the spire from the street today, you are looking at a repaired version of Antonelli's original idea. The outline is his, but the bones are newer.

Now, the museum. Its story belongs to one determined woman, Maria Adriana Prolo. She was a historian from Piedmont, the region around Turin. From the 1940s, she began collecting cameras, posters, photographs and documents about early film. Many people saw this material as old junk. She saw history. For decades, her collection moved between temporary homes. Then, in 2000, it found a permanent place here, inside the Mole. A huge old building finally had a purpose, and a huge collection finally had a home.

Why Turin? Because this city stands at the start of Italian cinema. In the early twentieth century, Turin had a strong group of film studios, long before Rome became the centre of the industry. One of the most famous early Italian films, Cabiria, was produced here in 1914. It was a grand historical epic, with enormous sets, and it influenced filmmakers far beyond Italy. So the museum is not a random choice of location. Cinema grew up on these streets.

The exhibition design is unusual. Instead of quiet rows of glass cases, the space is built like a series of film sets. It spirals up around the great central hall, on ramps that climb the inner walls. The design was led by the Swiss scenographer François Confino, a specialist in theatrical exhibitions. As you walk, the lighting, the sound and the colours change. The idea is simple. You do not only look at cinema here. You move through it, scene by scene.

A good place to begin is the section on the archaeology of cinema. This covers the centuries before film existed. Here you find shadow theatre, magic lanterns and optical toys, small devices that made still images seem to move. Many of them come from the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Look closely and you will see how simple many of the tricks are. A spinning disc. A slit to look through. A lamp and a painted glass slide. Every film you have ever watched grew from experiments like these.

Then comes the heart of the building, the Temple Hall. This is the great open space under the dome, and its name remembers the synagogue that was never built. Film clips play on large screens around you. The red lounge chairs are there for a reason. Lie back in one, look up, and let the images and the vast dome fill your vision. It is one of the few museums where lying down is part of the visit. Few visitors expect it.

Around the Temple Hall, smaller chapels open off the sides. Each one is dedicated to a film genre. You may find spaces for horror, for animation, for science fiction, for comedy and more. Elsewhere in the museum, you will see costumes, props, original posters and pieces of film equipment. Some objects are connected to well-known films and stars. Take time with the posters in particular. They show how the visual language of advertising films changed across the twentieth century.

Now, that glass box sliding through the air. It is the panoramic lift, and it runs straight up through the centre of the hall, with no shaft around it. The ride is short but unusual. You rise past the ramps, through the dome, and step out onto a viewing terrace high on the Mole. From there, Turin spreads out below you. On a clear day, you can see the snowy line of the Alps behind the rooftops. The lift needs a separate ticket, and queues can be long.

The museum is not only a collection of old things. It is also an active film institution. It is closely connected with the Torino Film Festival, one of the important film festivals in Italy. It runs a cinema in the city and keeps a large archive of photographs, posters and documents. Scholars and students use these collections for research. So the building you are standing in is still working. Behind the displays, people are still studying, restoring and showing films.

Before you leave, stand once more in the Temple Hall. Look up at the dome, so tall and so empty above you. A synagogue was planned here. A monument stood here for many years without a role. Now moving pictures fill the space. When you walk back out onto the street, turn around and find the spire against the sky. You will see it again and again as you cross Turin... a tall brick needle that holds a whole century of cinema.