"Former Arena Giardino Demolished while Bari Proclaims Itself Mediterranean Capital of Cinema" by Carlo Coppola
The concrete screen of Arena Giardino has been quietly torn down. No ceremony, no official statement, no protests from associations, no political outcry—no words at all. Just an excavator at work in Bari’s Libertà district, while other, far more decayed structures continue to blight the surrounding area, contributing to urban degradation, infestations, and traffic obstruction. And yet, the neighborhood—rightly—seeks renewal and emancipation. Perhaps the real question is: who truly wants that renewal, and at what cost?
All this unfolds while, not far away, the Bif&st – Bari International Film & TV Festival 2026 edition celebrates cinema with lifetime achievement awards and welcomes internationally renowned film stars.
There is something unmistakably ironic about this coincidence. The demolition took place on an ordinary day, between March 21 and 28, in near-total indifference—almost at the very same moment Bari presents itself as a southern capital of cinema, a Mediterranean hub of audiovisual culture. Meanwhile, just a few blocks away from the red (and white) carpets, one of the places where that history—the real, popular, non-festival kind—had begun was disappearing without witnesses.
This article is not intended as a polemic against anyone, but rather as a quiet lament for what was, in many ways, a “death foretold.”
Arena Giardino opened in August 1947, within the walls of the former Tobacco Factory. Contemporary records indicate a capacity of around 1,600 seats, with ticket prices aligned with factory cinemas—truly popular cinema in the fullest sense of the term. Each summer’s opening night was reserved for the children of factory workers: they entered for free and were given a small ice-cream treat during the screening. In this modest ritual lies the anthropology of an Italy that no longer exists.
The cinema finally closed in 1995, after years of fluctuating fortunes, a changing audience, and institutions less attentive than today to the preservation of cultural heritage. What followed were thirty years of abandonment—ending, ultimately, with demolition.
In the mid-2000s, there had been an attempt at restoration—one that, as often happens, remained confined to its announcement. What had long been left to decay has now given way to emptiness: absence where memory once stood.
It seems almost absurd that all this should occur during a festival that, in 2026, paid tribute to Giuseppe Tornatore, the director of Nuovo Cinema Paradiso—a film in which a projectionist weeps before the ruins of a demolished cinema. The parallel, unintended, becomes a powerful allegory. One could hardly imagine a more eloquent—or more cruel—juxtaposition.
And yet, less than 300 meters away, the Cinema Jolly—until recently also in a state of neglect—is now undergoing restoration, thanks to the determination of a single entrepreneur, Andrea Costantino. Independent-minded and unaligned with prevailing cultural or political trends, he embodies a rare kind of persistence. This ongoing revival renders the loss of Arena Giardino even more difficult to accept, demonstrating that alternatives do exist. What is required is vision, determination, and above all, individuals willing to invest not only money, but time, energy, and heart—often with the stubborn resilience that only dreamers possess.
What happened to Arena Giardino is no longer a matter of fate. It was a choice—a choice of abandonment.
As Eros Ramazzotti sang in 1996: “Un altro sogno che uccidono, Un'altra volgarità.”
Carlo Coppola
