Once we were securely placed in our seats, I had time to look about this mysterious and vast cavern of a theater, that even had a balcony; a loge where grown ups could smoke. The seats were large and tilted, the fabric on which we sat was velvet, usually a deep burgundy color that matched the stage curtains. The decor in each theater was so distinct: Middle Eastern, Art Deco, Asian, all grand, gaudy and glorious. Every theater was a trip to an exotic world. The ceilings could be rococo with impossibly huge hanging chandeliers that provided many long moments of awe and entertainment; the walls’ striking patterns provided a feast for the imagination. It was a fascinating time, inspiring great whispered conversations between ourselves. We didn’t dare speak out loud.
We were alerted that the performance was about to begin when soft music commenced. It was our cue to sit up, pay attention and look straight ahead. We didn’t want to miss anything. A hush came over the crowd as the lights lowered and the curtains opened. We watched with rapt attention while we followed a short reel of current events, perhaps laughed with a cartoon or two, and then the curtains would close again. At this point, last minute arrivals were allowed entry and were hurriedly seated. When the curtains parted a second time, we knew it was time for the movie to begin. Oh, the eager anticipation.
The movies then were spectacular events. They were longer in those days. West Side Story was 2.5 hours long, The Sound of Music was almost three hours long, as was My Fair Lady. Gone With The Wind was almost four hours long. Each movie had a 15 minute intermission. During the intermission (and we knew it was Intermission because that is what it said on the screen), music from the movie would play as the lights came up, allowing us to safely walk to the powder room or make an indiscriminate purchase at the concessions stand. We contentedly hummed our favorite tune during this brief respite from the excitement of watching the story on the huge screen. Then we returned to our seats for the breathtaking finale. Later, when the movie ended, we would again hear the same melodies as we exited the theater. Sometimes we received a 10 or 15 page hard copy booklet about the movie we had just watched. It was glorious to learn tidbits about the movie we had just watched.
And then there were Saturday afternoon matinees. This was an entirely different genre of movie. Mom would drop us off, give us each a quarter and counsel us to stay together. The theater would be filled with euphoric unsupervised kids like ourselves while our parents, undoubtedly, enjoyed an afternoon of peace and quiet. We said hello to our equally excited friends while we partook of fresh popcorn and raisinettes. And here was the reason for our unparalleled excitement: double features! Cowboy movies: Gene Autry and Roy Rogers; adventure movies: King Kong and Tarzan; science fiction movies: Journey to the Center of the Earth and The Invisible Man; horror movies: Frankenstein and The Mummy, and the occasional full length cartoon such as Cinderella or Snow White. Life was grand. The horror, the terror, or the courage of our movie idols would carry us throughout the entire following week.
And there were so many theaters nearby. Each theater was owned by its studio. We could go to the Bijou, which was owned by Universal; we could go to the Paramount, which was owned by Paramount; we could go to Hiland, which was owned by 20th Century Fox. United Artists and RKO likewise had their own theaters. We could go to a different movie at a different theater each night of the week.
Then, alas, times changed; studios no longer owned their own theaters and the multiplex appeared. These theaters were bright, functional, streamlined, and much less plush. Gone were the curtains, the decor, and the ubiquitous ushers with flashlights. Gone were the cartoons and newsreels. Gone too was the eager anticipation of venturing into an unknown magical world. And gone were the long movies; the new ones usually were 90 minutes long or thereabouts. We bore these, and other life’s changes, stoically.
Now, however, times have changed again and it appears that we may have come full circle. We soon will see our little town’s “new and improved” remodeled cineplex. Perhaps not quite the glory days of yesteryear, but we have learned that the “new and improved” theaters will offer alcoholic beverages and heated seat barcaloungers. I can only hope that we will be able to hear the dialogue over the snoring.
