CINECYLE: WORK TO RULE

Very nice

In a loop, watching movie about small place sitting in a small room

A very sweet, simple, and heartfelt film. It reveals a genius example—brilliant in its simplicity—of how a small community united by a love for cinema can form within a big city. Through this community, real warmth and life emerge in the midst of the 'concrete jungle,' bringing people together and allowing them to open up.

This is not just a documentary about a cinema. It’s about resistance. About keeping something alive in a world that’s constantly moving forward, sometimes without looking back. CineCycle is a temple for film lovers, built on love, bikes, and an unwavering refusal to conform. A beautiful, necessary film.

A bike shop. A cinema. A home. CineCycle isn’t just a place—it’s a mindset. And this film captures that spirit perfectly.

This is DIY at its finest. No corporate backing, no glossy bullshit—just a guy who loves bikes, film, and community. CineCycle is the kind of place that shouldn't exist in today's world... and yet, it does. And that gives me hope

It’s crazy how a tiny alleyway in Toronto can hold so much history, passion, and community. CineCycle feels like a secret club for people who really love movies, and this film makes you wish you could be there, stacking chairs, talking film, drinking coffee, being part of something real.

That guy built something rare, and this film knows it. CineCycle is a weird, wonderful space, but it’s also fragile. And the unspoken question lingers: what happens when he’s gone? Who will carry the torch? Will places like this survive in the future? A must-watch for anyone who still believes in independent art.

Toronto is changing. CineCycle is one of those rare places that refuses to change with it. It’s stubborn. It’s scrappy. It’s ours. And if you’ve ever walked those alleys, past those bikes, and into that little theater, this film will hit you right in the heart.

CineCycle isn’t just a microcinema—it’s a rebellion against the sterilization of film culture. A place where 16mm still hums, where projectionists still get their hands dirty, where cinema isn’t just consumed, but lived. This documentary is a time capsule of what cinephilia used to be, and what it should be.