Carl C
Google
Federico Fellini once said that “talking about dreams is like talking about movies, since the cinema uses the language of dreams; years can pass in a second and you can hop from one place to another.” Nowhere is that more true than at Cinema Troisi, a relatively new arthouse situated on the edge of Trastevere, just before you cross the river into Testaccio. Small in size but generous in spirit, it feels like a cinema built for anyone who still believes in the quiet magic of movies.
The programming is clearly curated by someone of a similar Generation X persuasion. Saturday matinees are a particular highlight, showcasing filmmakers whose work still sparks conversation. Recently Wes Anderson, followed by Stanley Kubrick, and now Alfred Hitchcock. They have brought my film friends and me together in the best way possible. And tickets cost just €3, roughly the price of a caffè and a cornetto. Try finding another cinema in a major European capital offering anything close to that.
Cinema Troisi also knows how to draw attention. It hosts celebrated auteurs for engaging filmic discussions, and my wife and I have been lucky enough to see Jane Campion and Julia Ducournau in person recently. In a city overflowing with history and spectacle, this small institution has quietly become one of the most important cinematic sites in Rome. It gives the place a pulse that goes beyond ordinary screenings, creating a space where discourse transcends borders and generations.
The crowd is generally young, but not exclusively. Students, locals, and visitors all mingle quietly, drawn by the films themselves rather than spectacle. Screenings run until midnight, which makes the cinema feel alive long after the streets outside have settled. Despite having just one screen, it somehow feels bigger than many cinemas ten times its size. There is a small bar to retire to before or after the film, and a 24/7 study area that nearby students should be taking full advantage of.
Cinema Troisi is more than just a cinema. It reminds us that film can be a communal ritual, a shared fascination with light and shadow, story and memory. We go, sit, watch, and let the flickering of the silver screen carry us somewhere else. When we leave and step out into the Roman night, our thoughts might drift back to more Fellini wisdom: “Going to the cinema is like returning to the womb; you sit there, still and meditative in the darkness, waiting for life to appear on the screen.”
