Losing It At the Movies: Memories of Local Movie Houses

Sean Baker, the newly minted king of the movie world, has publicly pleaded with studios and moviegoers to support local cinemas. This is a subject about which I too feel passionate. And so does my new friend Kendra Nordin Beato, a staff writer at the venerable Christian Science Monitor. Here’s a link to her recent—and fascinating—CSM article, titled ‘I didn’t know I needed it.’ Why neighborhoods rally to save movie houses.’ And here’s a companion link to a CSM audio featurette, A documentarian’s take on the magic of moviegoing, about a filmmaker currently chronicling the movement to preserve neighborhood theatres. 

Growing up in L.A., I was surrounded by a wealth of movie houses. Beyond exotic palaces like Grauman’s Chinese and the Egyptian, both glamorous venues on Hollywood Blvd., there were friendly local spots like the Picwood (where Pico met Westwood Blvd.) and the Picfair (yup, at Pico and Fairfax). Also the Stadium (now a synagogue), where generations of kids hung out at Saturday matinees. And Santa Monica’s own Aero, which during World War II played movies ‘round the clock, to accommodate shift workers at nearby aircraft plants. All of these were stand-alone theatres, usually featuring double-bills along with the occasional newsreel and a batch of cartoons.  (Joe Dante’s great little 1993 film, Matinee, captures what it was like for young movie-goers in 1962, though he also interpolates the Cuban Missile Crisis.) 

But the times they were a-changin’, and the stand-alones were either leveled or replaced by multiplexes. You picked one film from a menu of several of the latest releases . . .  and when it was over, you couldn’t hang around to watch it again. And forget about having a choice of seating in advance. 

Here are a few of my most vivid movie house memories: 

(1) The Graduate (1967) – Part of the thrill of this legendary romantic comedy was rooting for Benjamin and Elaine in their flight from the domination of their parents. Closely studying this film years later for my Seduced by Mrs. Robinson, I realized that the charm of the ending came from seeing young people openly defying the will of the previous generation. Movie theatres rocked with the cheers of young cinephiles. It wasn’t until years later, watching on our couches at home, that we all started to wonder: where will this newly-minted couple go from here? 

 (2) A Clockwork Orange (1971) – I remember seeing this bold Stanley Kubrick translation of the Anthony Burgess novel at the storied Grauman’s Chinese. The house was packed. When the cruel, sadistic rape scene (performed to the tune of “Singin’ in the Rain”) came on screen, all the men in the theatre seemed to erupt with gleeful laughter. Never have I ever felt so female . . . or so vulnerable. 

(3) Rocky (1978) – I’m hardly a fan of prizefighting. Still, I was all in for Rocky Balboa in his climactic fight against the champ, Apollo Creed. Watching this is a medium-sized house in the San Fernando Valley, I truly felt I was ringside for the fight of the century. Everyone in every seat felt the same way: we were all wonderfully united in cheering on the underdog in his bout against the pro. 

Then, as a young film critic, I watched Teshigahara’s 1964 Japanese masterpiece, Woman in the Dunes, completely alone in a large revival house. It’s a film about isolation—and I felt it in every fiber of my being. 

Kudos to Hollywood’s Quentin Tarantino, Jason Reitman, and others who’ve taken on the mission to preserve some legendary local theatres, like the UCLA-adjacent Village.