On an unassuming street in central London, a red-painted building peeks at passersby — its facade plastered with a close-up of The Man with the X-Ray Eyes. Inside, I’m watching Ruggero Deodato’s The Washing Machine, an Italian murder mystery involving psychosexual mind games, fridge fornication, and bleeding appliances.
It’s the kind of filmic fever dream only The Nickel would dare to screen: a new micro cinema in London founded by filmmaker and programmer Dominic Hicks. Imbued with the frenetic spirit and sleazy charm of retro American grindhouse theatres, it’s a shrine to the deranged gems of exploitation cinema: gritty, boundary-pushing B-movies.
