The Theatre That Time Forgot

by Brett Parker

It’s a scenario we’ve seen a million times on the big screen: a modern-day person finds themselves taken from the present and transported to a radically different dimension, world, or time. As they explore their strange new environment, they become amused by the majestic whimsy of it all and even learn some valuable lessons that will benefit them when they return to their home world and time. When they finally do return to their original place, they usually find themselves enlightened and delighted by the strange adventure they’ve just endured. I never would’ve thought that I’d have such an experience during a trip to the movies, but a recent Saturday afternoon visit to a far away theatre proved to be the sort of peculiar journey I just described above.

It all started on my 25th birthday. As a gift, my Aunt Carole gave me a $25 gift card for AMC Movie Theatres (Thanks again, Aunt Carole!) She purchased the card at a local Wal-Mart, not realizing that there seemed to be no close AMC chain anywhere in sight. Albany, NY is a mostly REGAL dominated area with pretty much no AMC theatre in sight. After doing some internet research, I discovered that an AMC theatre may or may not exist in Rotterdam, NY. There was definitely a theatre in the Rotterdam Square Mall, although some listings had it as “AMC” while others had it as an “Independent Theatre.” I googled directions to the theatre and discovered that it was approximately 40 minutes from my home, a trying distance to drive just for a discount that may or may not happen. After some consideration, I figured I’d go through with the epic hike. Worst case scenario: I’d driven all that way to pay for a movie I could’ve seen in a closer town. I could live with that.

So on a recent Saturday afternoon, I took off on my strange quest to discover a mysterious theatre across a great distance. I finally arrived at the Rotterdam mall and found it to be a satisfactory shopping venue. The theatre didn’t have an accessible entrance so I had to figure out its location on the giant mall map. At this point, the theatre’s mystique increased in my mind, making me feel like I was out to find the Temple of Doom. Indeed, when I finally discovered the theatre, I truly felt like an archeologist finding a lost, ancient city who gleefully revels in its primitive structure.

The look and set-up of the theatre appeared to have stopped past the early 90s. The front entrance was surrounded by old school ticket booths that had long been abandoned yet still displayed movie times in plastic white lettering. As I walked through the big silver front doors, I found myself in an extremely minimalist lobby that was no bigger than a gas station quickie mart. The walls and carpeting were drenched in a subtle turquoise that was quite a contrast from the loud brightness of contemporary theatres. The concession stand was loaded with fresh and cheap popcorn along with a surprisingly varied amount of candy. Most modern movie chains are limiting in their candy selections due to licensing agreements, yet this theatre appeared to have all the major brands. The ticket clerk informed me that the theatre was no longer under the AMC chain and could no longer honor my card. Nonetheless, my ticket was only somewhere around $6.00, a wonderfully low cost. So this theatre had become something of a separatist republic annexed from a grander empire, and boy, oh boy, did it feel this way.

This shabby Shangri-La was old school in every sense of the term and I mean that as the grandest compliment. That walk through the front door really did feel like a plunge down a time portal. This place had the look and feel of movie houses I frequented in my childhood years, so this place powerfully took me back to feeling exactly like a kid again. To strengthen this heart-warming feeling, the hallways to the small theatres were lined with significant films from my childhood; titles such as E.T. and Who Framed Roger Rabbit. Aside from the vintage look of the theatre, what grabbed me the most was the muteness of it all. There were no digital signs crowding the place, no endless assault of commercial advertisements, no monstrosities of architectural structure. The most exciting aspect of the theatre was the very film you were about to see, which is as it should be.

I was greatly relieved to enter the theatre and find the screen completely blank. There were no loud commercials or advertisements of any kind, just darkness and silence. I haven’t experienced that in quite some time. The seats themselves were not the outsized lazy boys of contemporary theatres, but the old blue plastic kind equipped with small cup holders and a tight intimacy. This could be irritable for most people, but I was able to feel the nostalgic charm of it all. The clock was ticking closer to showtime and the theatre began to fill up with people. As I observed the people sitting around me, I noticed a very shocking thing: everyone was quiet. Not one person made a phone call, texted, talked, even moved. It was like the old days, when people treated sitting in a theatre like sitting in a church. Of course, the commercial upgrades that have been unleashed on theatre culture have diminished this feeling. This old school theatre gave off the feeling of an aging cathedral, so perhaps the atmosphere inspired the traditional religious behavior people used to associate with film-going. I was glowing from the beauty of it all.

As the film I saw ended, I realized I enjoyed the aesthetic experience more than the actual movie itself. It was like stumbling through an old museum of simple beauty. As I walked out those silver front doors, I did indeed feel like I was being chucked back to reality. A friend of mine called my cell to see if I wanted to hang out, and off I was back to the real world. I stared at the front of the theatre, which almost slightly resembled the lost temple from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, and realized I must leave this backhanded city of Oz behind.

This whole experience made me reflect on what our American theatre culture has lost. Advertisers and money men have taken over the intimacy of theatre-going and turned it into a commercial venture that is too vast and impersonal to capture the feelings it gave off in past times. Theatre formalities have been jacked up to outsized obnoxiousness in order to accommodate the pop mentality of making things harder, bigger, stronger, and faster. I’m not going to lie, I’m heavily indulgent in this enterprise and I do enjoy a tricked out theatre every now and then. But I found myself leveled, absolutely leveled, by this outdated theatre I stumbled upon. The simplicity of it all resurrected a religious aura one used to feel when going to the movies, where aesthetic traditions were honored to the fullest and the magic of the movies were given all the room to breathe.

I’m sure there are theatres like this tucked away all over the country and you should seek them out, for they will most likely give you this overwhelming feeling I’ve just described. It made me realize that going to the movies shouldn’t feel like a commercial indulgence but more like artistic nourishment. Maybe one day, this nostalgia trip I’ve described can become an everyday occurrence once again and not just a whimsical journey to a magical world.