The Death of the Neighbourhood Cinema
At the end of this month, a mere four days from now, the light will be all but extinguished on a very important flame. Here in Toronto, as I'm sure in most other major cities, we have had a chain of repertory cinemas that show second-run movies for many years. Among the most popular are the Kingsway, the Revue, and the Paradise. The family who runs the chain have decided to close all of the cinemas except one, I believe -- The Bloor, which, I suppose is the only profitable one as it tends to have festivals throughout the year, caters to the university crowd and is closer to downtown.
These little theatres have had a very special, instrumental part to play in my life. I spent many, many hours in them. My husband is a real movie buff and most of our dates took place there, as I am something of a movie buff myself. In them, I discovered movies by people like Werner Herzog, Jacques Rivette, Ken Loach, Mike Leigh, and countless other names that are not instantly recognizable to the average moviegoer but are well known among movie lovers.
I remember going to see Monty Python and the Holy Grail and ...And Now For Something Completely Different on a double bill one Friday night. Me and my friend stepped outside to smoke a joint between the first and second feature. I remember going to see a Stanley Kubrick triple bill with my brother: A Clockwork Orange, Barry Lyndon, and The Shining. I remember going to see Pulp Fiction and being absolutely blown away. I saw movies that left a lump in my heart, got my heart beating again, made me want to kick ass, start a revolution, and lie down and die.
You just don't see movies like that at the big multiplexes. I don't like multiplexes. I go to them because they are basically the only theatres around now, but I do it under protest. A journalist here in Toronto wrote an article about the upcoming closings of the repertory theatres, and he described the inside of these mulitplexes so perfectly, I thought: he called them "electrified grottoes". Man, was that accurate. Whenever I step into one of those multiplex madhouses, I feel as if I'm the ball in a giant pinball machine, being bounced off the flipper to the popcorn stand, the candy stand, the movie posters for upcoming attractions, the video games, the ice cream stand, the latte stand ... it is a relentless assault of the senses and the wallet.
I grew up in a neighbourhood of Toronto that was lucky enough to have two large theatres: the Humber and the Runnymede. The Humber was closed down years ago and has been standing vacant (except for a random book sale or two) ever since, awaiting the wrecking ball. The Runnymede followed not too long after; it became a Chapters bookstore, and I'll give them credit for keeping some of the architectural features of the old theatre ... at least the ghost of it is still very much alive every time you walk in. But the Humber is a different story. It is just empty. It always feels sad to me to walk past it and look in the empty showcases where posters for movies like The Poseidon Adventure and Earthquake used to be so prominently displayed ... movies my brothers and I eagerly lined up to see. It feels very sad to remember the old, grand staircase, the bannister I used to feel sliding underneath my hand, as I hurried down the stairs to find a good seat, and realize that it will be nothing but dust sooner or later.
It is heinous, in my opinion, for independently run theatres to close. Such a valuable part of our culture will die, to be replaced by what? Starbucks coffee and ads for Britney Spears' latest cd to pop up over and over again on the screen as you wait for your movie to start. Have you noticed how many commercials and ads you have to sit through to get to a movie now? It's ridiculous. You might as have a "go ahead, manipulate me" sign on your head as soon as you sit down.
How I long for the days when you could still walk into a movie theatre and see an old-fashioned candy counter, complete with huge popcorn popper, smell the pervasive scent of buttery chemicals, and walk down a sloping floor to come face to face with one big screen. But those days are gone, gone, gone. Put up the headstone and mourn.
These little theatres have had a very special, instrumental part to play in my life. I spent many, many hours in them. My husband is a real movie buff and most of our dates took place there, as I am something of a movie buff myself. In them, I discovered movies by people like Werner Herzog, Jacques Rivette, Ken Loach, Mike Leigh, and countless other names that are not instantly recognizable to the average moviegoer but are well known among movie lovers.
I remember going to see Monty Python and the Holy Grail and ...And Now For Something Completely Different on a double bill one Friday night. Me and my friend stepped outside to smoke a joint between the first and second feature. I remember going to see a Stanley Kubrick triple bill with my brother: A Clockwork Orange, Barry Lyndon, and The Shining. I remember going to see Pulp Fiction and being absolutely blown away. I saw movies that left a lump in my heart, got my heart beating again, made me want to kick ass, start a revolution, and lie down and die.
You just don't see movies like that at the big multiplexes. I don't like multiplexes. I go to them because they are basically the only theatres around now, but I do it under protest. A journalist here in Toronto wrote an article about the upcoming closings of the repertory theatres, and he described the inside of these mulitplexes so perfectly, I thought: he called them "electrified grottoes". Man, was that accurate. Whenever I step into one of those multiplex madhouses, I feel as if I'm the ball in a giant pinball machine, being bounced off the flipper to the popcorn stand, the candy stand, the movie posters for upcoming attractions, the video games, the ice cream stand, the latte stand ... it is a relentless assault of the senses and the wallet.
I grew up in a neighbourhood of Toronto that was lucky enough to have two large theatres: the Humber and the Runnymede. The Humber was closed down years ago and has been standing vacant (except for a random book sale or two) ever since, awaiting the wrecking ball. The Runnymede followed not too long after; it became a Chapters bookstore, and I'll give them credit for keeping some of the architectural features of the old theatre ... at least the ghost of it is still very much alive every time you walk in. But the Humber is a different story. It is just empty. It always feels sad to me to walk past it and look in the empty showcases where posters for movies like The Poseidon Adventure and Earthquake used to be so prominently displayed ... movies my brothers and I eagerly lined up to see. It feels very sad to remember the old, grand staircase, the bannister I used to feel sliding underneath my hand, as I hurried down the stairs to find a good seat, and realize that it will be nothing but dust sooner or later.
It is heinous, in my opinion, for independently run theatres to close. Such a valuable part of our culture will die, to be replaced by what? Starbucks coffee and ads for Britney Spears' latest cd to pop up over and over again on the screen as you wait for your movie to start. Have you noticed how many commercials and ads you have to sit through to get to a movie now? It's ridiculous. You might as have a "go ahead, manipulate me" sign on your head as soon as you sit down.
How I long for the days when you could still walk into a movie theatre and see an old-fashioned candy counter, complete with huge popcorn popper, smell the pervasive scent of buttery chemicals, and walk down a sloping floor to come face to face with one big screen. But those days are gone, gone, gone. Put up the headstone and mourn.
posted by emily pound at 2:12 PM
4 Comments:
I have many pleasant memories of the old movie palaces and the second and third run theaters of my youth(the dollar theaters). I remember seeing one of the Star Wars Movies in one huge old theater that couldn't afford the heat in the winter and the a/c in the summer... this movie was in the winter and we were sitting there in our parkas watching our breath condense above our heads. It was a hoot, and only a dollar.
In my neck of the woods a new "art" theater has opened and its wonderful. It's not a buck for a film, but the seats are nice, the programs great and you see all the new indy films.
It's been a financial success and it looks like more places like it will sprout up around the country(US).
One of the legends of one of the old repertory theatres here, The Kingsway, is that once they were showing "The Texas Chainsaw Massacre" and some guy in a mask and butcher's outfit ran up the aisles with a chainsaw and caused a huge panic. I wasn't there at the time, but this story was legend in my circle.
Jennie,
I have no idea if he was a customer or maybe someone who worked there pulling a prank. :-) If he did work there, I guess he got fired. But I loved that story, I thought it was hilarious too.
Another Texas Chainsaw story: once a friend and I were walking at nighttime around Halloween, and a guy in (you guessed it) mask, and butcher's apron (complete with blotchy stains)was standing on the sidewalk. I saw him out of the corner of my eye and thought, uh oh, weird, and hoped he would not pay any attention to us, but sure enough when we passed by, he cocked his head in a demented way and started limping after us and making these guttural grunting noises. My friend screamed and I nearly fell on my ass off the sidewalk, and then he started limping away again. :-) I guess it was a Halloween prank, but it did scare the shit out of me.
Jennie,
I have no idea if he was a customer or maybe someone who worked there pulling a prank. :-) If he did work there, I guess he got fired. But I loved that story, I thought it was hilarious too.
Another Texas Chainsaw story: once a friend and I were walking at nighttime around Halloween, and a guy in (you guessed it) mask, and butcher's apron (complete with blotchy stains)was standing on the sidewalk. I saw him out of the corner of my eye and thought, uh oh, weird, and hoped he would not pay any attention to us, but sure enough when we passed by, he cocked his head in a demented way and started limping after us and making these guttural grunting noises. My friend screamed and I nearly fell on my ass off the sidewalk, and then he started limping away again. :-) I guess it was a Halloween prank, but it did scare the shit out of me.
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