A Look at Studio 28, A Montmartre Cinema With Deep Surrealist History

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Last Updated on December 29, 2025

Studio 28 Cinema in Montmartre, Paris/image by Courtney Traub/All rights reserved

Especially in autumn and winter when daylight becomes increasingly scarce, there’s an excellent case for ducking into the darkness and spending a couple of hours retreating from the inner chatter— at least, that’s the effect that cinemas typically have on me. 

On one of my recent stays in Paris, I was determined to get a better “handle” on Montmartre, an area I’d never spent much time in. In fact, I’d kind of consciously avoided it. The human swarms around the Sacré Coeur and the inevitably tacky, theme-park-like attempts to recreate the neighborhood’s artistic heyday on the Place des Tertres don’t exactly make me want to be there.

That, coupled with the fact that this is not an especially accessible area and you have to make a real effort to get up there, meant I’d neglected to really give it much of a chance. 

But I recently re-discovered a tiny arthouse theater that I hadn’t been to in over a decade— and it’s done much to correct my sense of Montmartre as being nothing more than a massive tourist trap perched high on the butte (hill) of the same name. 

Studio 28 sits on a side street that feels eons away from the doldrums-inspiring souvenir shops, trinket-pushers, and selfie-stick-yielding hordes just a few blocks over. Opened in 1928 (a fact inscribed in its name), it’s one of the longest-running cinemas in the city, and was a major center of surrealism and avant-garde in the pre-war era. 

Prior to its opening, a cabaret called La Pétaudière occupied the same address. A magazine editor and cinephile named Jean-Placide Mauclaire, co-founder of the still-running film revue Le Film Français, transformed it into a cinema, which would quickly become France’s first avant-garde theater dedicated to the “7th art”. 

A historic postcard shows Rue Tholozé and the corner of Rue des Abbesses, with a sign pointing to the recently-opened Studio 28 on the right. Public domain/found at Montmartreaddict.com

It soon became a favorite hangout for people like Luis Buñuel, Jean Cocteau, Salvador Dalì and silent-film director Abel Gance. One of the cinema’s most notorious moments came in early December 1930, when Buñuel screened his (silent) film L’Âge d’Or (The Golden Age). 

The audience was so scandalized by the satirical content of the film, which critiqued everything from bourgeois sexual conservatism to what it cast as the hypocricy of the Catholic church, that the theater was saccaged. Buñuel’s film was subsequently banned, and the cinema was even shut down for a time. 

Luckily, it re-opened two years later, changing hands a couple of times before being purchased by Edgar Roulleau and his brother George in 1946. Since then, the Roulleau family has maintained ownership of what has become an emblematic Montmartre landmark. So much so that in 1950, Jean Cocteau became a patron for Studio 28, and created a set of distinctive lamps for the theaters. 

Ironically (and sadly), I didn’t see a movie here on my last visit. We had been walking around for ages and were hankering for a coffee and a place to let our young daughter out of her stroller for a spell, and we noticed a sign outside indicating that the “jardin” (garden) was free to access without a ticket. 

The spacious, airy bar area seemed ideal for a rainy or chilly day, but since it was relatively nice out we claimed a small table in the leafy adjoining garden. 

Studio 28 cinema/courtyard area with a mural showing many French film stars. Image by Courtney Traub/All rights reserved
Studio 28’s courtyard area features a mural showing many French film stars. Image by Courtney Traub/All rights reserved

Watched over lovingly (and/or menacingly?) by various film icons painted in black and white, we sipped our coffee (very decent) and nibbled on speculoos biscuits, relieved to catch a breath and take in the improbable quiet of the garden. The barman was friendly and welcoming, and the place was occupied by only a smattering of people. This felt like a relief after navigating the crowds just a little earlier. 

It was hard to believe that just a couple blocks to the south, the incessant noise and pollution of the Boulevard de Clichy was simultaneously “happening”. 

In any case, I’ll be back soon to sit below Cocteau’s playful candelabras and get lost in the darkness for a spell. 

For more on the Parisian cinemas that haunt and lure me in every time, see my full guide here.

Studio 28: Address & Contact Details

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