Pera’s Glass Hall:
The Story of Elhamra Passage
From the French Theatre to the Crystal Palace
After the Tanzimat reforms, a new cultural scene began to take shape
in the Galatasaray area, at number 130 — the spot linking what is now
Ä°stiklal Avenue (then known as the Grande Rue de Pera)
with Rue Glavany, today’s Kallavi Street.
Established in 1827, this venue, called the French Theatre (Théâtre Français),
holds the distinction of being Istanbul’s first Western-style theatre.
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The theatre was badly damaged in the Great BeyoÄŸlu Fire of 1831
and had to close down. When it was rebuilt, a spacious glass foyer
and large doors were added, and the theatre reopened under a new name
— the Crystal Theatre (Cristal Théâtre). Over time, the space began to host
not only plays but also balls and lavish gatherings, earning the nickname
Crystal Palace (Palais de Cristal).
Palais de Cristal, 25 January 1862
Architects of the Palais de Cristal
Some accounts suggest that the building, partly destroyed in the 1831 fire, stood abandoned for a time. Later, Barthelemy Guistiniani — a theatre owner from Galata — commissioned the construction of a new theatre in the Italian style, notably without galleries or balconies.
In the following years, Guistiniani is said to have collaborated with Eduard Sallo,
bringing in architect Barborini to design both a theatre and a grand ballroom.
The ballroom, with an entrance made entirely of glass, was called the Palais de Cristal,
while the theatre retained its earlier name, the French Theatre.
Tracing History: The Architects of Elhamra Han
The venue that once reflected the earliest traces of Ottoman society’s Western-style entertainment and cultural life vanished from history after the Great BeyoÄŸlu Fire of 1871.
During the Allied occupation of Istanbul in the 1920s, Sait Adapazarlı—known at the time as Arapzade Sait—purchased the remains of what was then called the Crystal Palace. Intending to demolish the old theatre building entirely, he planned to
erect a modern cinema hall in its place.
For this ambitious project, he collaborated with Constantinos Panagiotis Kyriakides, the Greek architect known for his Art Nouveau designs and
for his work on the Frej Apartment. Together with the Georgiades Brothers,
Kiryakidis formed an architectural team to bring Elhamra to life.
The Georgiades Brothers—architects also known for the Abuaf and ÇaÄŸdaÅŸ Apartments—are mentioned in architect and professor Behçet Ünsal’s interview notes with Mimar Sırrı Bilen, which read:
“In Sırrı Bey lived the true spirit of the old Turkish men of art—humble, indifferent to his own life and works. He lived in modesty. By the time I met him, not a single project, sketch, drawing, or tracing of his works remained. He spoke little, only when I asked. That’s how I managed to gather some fragments of information:
The Elhamra Cinema in BeyoÄŸlu was designed by Yorgiyadis, under the name of Kiryakidis; the old Melek Cinema was built by V. Adamandidis—both trained in Paris.”
Although it is known that Konstantinos Kyriakides received an engineering-based architectural education at the Athens Polytechnic and later continued his training in Paris, no such information exists regarding the Yorgiyadis Brothers.
While rarely mentioned in Turkish academic circles, the Yorgiyadis brothers belonged to the Evkaf (pious foundation) architectural tradition — practitioners engaged in surveying, restoration, and repair works, who developed their craft by assisting master architects. Within this context, they can be described as architectural designers and executors who inherited and carried forward the technical and aesthetic practices of the Evkaf school.
Stefanos Georgiades, in particular, was recognized as one of the skilled draftsmen of his time. It is therefore possible to view the construction of Elhamra Han as an extension of the Evkaf architectural tradition.
Characterized by geometric interlaced balcony railings, muqarnas-framed niches, and a richly eclectic architectural language, the building may be considered an orientalist experiment. Its lavish decorative scheme—especially the façades and interior ornamentation—suggests that Architect Muzaffer Bey, who tragically passed away during the construction phase, also took part in the project. (I would like to express my heartfelt gratitude to my dear professor Zafer Akay for his invaluable guidance throughout this research process.)
The Recent History of Elhamra Han:
Cine Alhambra as a Cultural Venue
The opening of Cine Alhambra, the grand cinema hall housed within the Elhamra building in BeyoÄŸlu, was announced with great enthusiasm in the Ä°pek Film Gazette, the official publication of Ä°pek Film Studios.
The article read:
“Elhamra Cinema was inaugurated recently with a splendid ceremony attended
by many distinguished guests from the art world and the press.
The building’s architecture and ornamentation drew immense admiration; audiences could not hide their astonishment at the hall’s spaciousness and elegance.
The film screened on the opening night was met with enthusiastic applause.
It is certain that this beautiful and modern establishment will bring a fresh vibrancy
to Istanbul’s entertainment life.”
The same news item also listed Salâhî Hızır as the Managing Director and Talât Muhtar as the Editor-in-Chief, with the address given as Nuru Ziya Street No. 16, BeyoÄŸlu.
News of the Opening of Cine Alhambra, 1923.
In 1923, the venue reopened under the name Cine Alhambra, marking its transformation into one of Istanbul’s most prominent cinema halls.
On March 15, 1930, the theatre made history by screening The Jazz Singer — known as the first sound film in the history of cinema — for Istanbul audiences. Not long after, it hosted one of the first film galas ever held in Turkey, with a special screening of
La nuit est à nous (The Night Belongs to Us), one of the earliest French sound films. The occasion gained further prestige when the film’s leading actress, Marie Bell, attended the premiere in person.
The event that truly cemented Elhamra’s reputation, however, was the visit of Mustafa Kemal Atatürk. On December 3, 1930, Atatürk watched The Vagabond King, Ankara Documentary, and All Quiet on the Western Front at the Elhamra Cinema. He returned again on February 23, 1932, to attend the screening of the operetta The Congress Dances.
It is said that Atatürk and his accompanying committee would sometimes preview films at Elhamra before their official release in Turkey — personally evaluating and approving which ones would be shown to the public.
In 1936, as part of Turkey’s Language Reform movement, the cinema was renamed “Sakarya Cinema.”
A few years later, in 1941, when Ha-Ka Film took over the operation from the Ä°pek family, the venue reclaimed its former name — Elhamra.
Under the management of Cemil Filmer, who ran the cinema for ten years, Elhamra continued to be one of BeyoÄŸlu’s cultural landmarks. However, due to spatial limitations and the evolving entertainment landscape, the building was converted into a theatre in 1962.
During this period, the Istanbul Theatre, the Sururi Ensemble, and the Istanbul Operetta Company staged numerous productions on its stage, carrying Elhamra’s legacy into a new artistic era.
Having hosted screenings that marked milestones in the development of Turkish cinema and later serving as one of Istanbul’s most distinguished theatre stages, Elhamra long stood in the city’s collective memory as a true temple of art.
By the late 1970s, however, with the rising popularity of erotic films, Elhamra Cinema began to drift away from its cultural prominence and gradually turned into a haunt
for young male audiences.
This era came to an abrupt and tragic end on the night of February 15, 1999, when
a devastating fire broke out in the building. Upon hearing the news, film historian Giovanni Scognamillo poignantly remarked:
“Something broke inside our hearts.”
For Elhamra was never merely a building — it was a cultural landmark etched into the memory of generations.
Yet within the Biennial’s narrative, one cannot help but wonder:
Why was it forgotten that what truly made Elhamra precious was not only its architecture, but its resilience — its power to vanish in flames, to rise again, and to transform?
A Historical Rupture in the Biennial Narrative
Presented as one of the eight exhibition venues of the 18th Istanbul Biennial, Elhamra Han is introduced in the catalogue as one of the city’s first theatre halls, with an anonymous architect.
However, this historical narrative aligns with reality only in terms of the building’s location, not its factual chronology.
The catalogue reads:
“Built in 1827 as one of the city’s first theatre halls, Elhamra Han has transformed alongside Istanbul itself — first becoming a lively entertainment venue known as the Palais de Cristal (Crystal Palace) for its extraordinary glass foyer, and later evolving through various commercial uses. Over the course of the 20th century, the building echoed with music, theatre, and cinema until a devastating fire in 1999 brought it all to an end.”
In a history filled with fires, closures, demolitions, and reconstructions, it is indeed difficult to discern that the Elhamra Passage is not a 19th-century structure but
a 20th-century one.
Yet both its date and its architects are in fact known.
The historical framing used in the Biennial text obscures the building’s actual process of construction, rendering its material and cultural history invisible.
Although the 18th Istanbul Biennial does not have a fixed exhibition site, it is stated that its venues were selected in line with the conceptual framework established
by curator Christine Tohmé.
However, the Biennial provides little indication of how this framework relates to the specific historical and architectural contexts of these spaces.
It seems that in the selection of venues, historical accuracy was consciously relegated to the background.
Under the theme “The Possibility of Staying Alive”, the Biennial opens its doors to the public while presenting Elhamra Han — a building from the early 20th century —
as a 19th-century structure.
Could this reinterpretation be seen as a deliberate act of cultural gentrification within the curatorial narrative?
What I aim to emphasize through this essay is that Elhamra Han’s historical context remains largely overlooked within the Biennial’s discourse — a condition that reveals the urgent need for a more sustained dialogue between art institutions and architectural historians.
While the dispersal of venues across BeyoÄŸlu may be read as an effort to engage with the district’s cultural dynamism, the Biennial’s spatial strategy also exposes
a critical rupture:
a preference for conceptual abstraction over historical continuity, and a notable lack of site-specific works rooted in the local narratives of place.
By presenting Elhamra Han as a 19th-century structure, the Biennial’s catalogue inadvertently produces a narrative that obscures the building’s temporal continuity.
This overlooked history of Elhamra is not merely an architectural concern — it is
a question of how urban memory is rewritten, and of what is lost when the material traces of the past are reimagined for the aesthetics of the present.
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