The Druggists Sessions: The Future of Film is History

The Future of Film Is History

When I first settled on the title The Future of Film Is History, I knew it carried two meanings, and I wanted to sit with both.

The first is a quieter, more pessimistic reading. It reflects a feeling many of us share — that cinema, as we once knew it, is receding. The closing of old theatres, the shrinking of communal spaces, the shift toward solitary and algorithm-driven viewing all suggest a future where film lives mostly in memory. In this sense, “history” feels like an endpoint, a record of something that once mattered deeply.

But there is another meaning, and it is the one I believe in more. It suggests that the future of film may lie in looking backward — not out of nostalgia, but out of care. By returning to cinema’s material history, its posters, spaces, and rituals, we begin to remember what gave the cinematic experience its soul. Sometimes the answers to where we are going are found in where we have been.

The three sessions in this series grew from that belief. The first was an introductory look at film posters across different countries, sizes, and traditions — a way of understanding cinema as a global visual language shaped by culture and place. The second, Re-Issue, focused on re-released films and posters, and what it means for a film to return, be re-seen, and re-understood by a new generation. The third, The Big Ones, turned to large-format posters and the role of scale, space, and spectacle in shaping how audiences once encountered cinema.

Together, these sessions were less about cataloguing objects, and more about learning how to look again — at film, at history, and at the experiences we hope cinema might still offer in the future.

The Vanguard of Independent Spaces

None of these sessions would have happened without Druggists. From the very beginning, they offered me not just a venue, but something far more meaningful: trust. They took a chance on an idea that was untested, led by someone without a public profile or established name in the cultural scene. That kind of faith is rare, and I’m deeply grateful for it.

My thanks go especially to Corrine and Lincoln, whose openness and generosity made these talks possible. They didn’t ask for guarantees or polished credentials; they simply believed that there was value in creating space for conversation, curiosity, and shared experience. In doing so, they reminded me that cultural life often grows not from institutions, but from people willing to say yes.

This experience has also made me reflect more broadly on the importance of independent spaces in Singapore. Places like Druggists are vital. They give ideas room to breathe, allow experiments to happen, and add texture to our artistic landscape. Supporting them is not just about consumption; it is about choosing the kind of cultural environment we want to live in. If we want a nation that is curious, creative, and alive, we need to show up for the small, independent spaces that keep it that way.

Showing Up

Finally, I want to thank everyone who showed up across the three sessions. Every person who took time out of their day, found their way to Druggists, sat down, listened, asked questions, and stayed behind to talk — you gave these sessions life. More than that, you gave me courage. It is one thing to have an idea; it is another to voice it aloud. Your presence turned uncertainty into encouragement, and hesitation into momentum. For that, I am deeply thankful.

I also can’t end this reflection without thinking of The Projector. In many ways, this series exists because places like The Projector once existed: spaces where cinema was not content to be consumed, but an encounter to be experienced. As its doors close, what remains is the quiet responsibility to remember what it stood for — and to carry that spirit with us, wherever we next gather in the dark.

Perhaps that is where history will meet the future again.