So, it’s that time every year when everybody gets Oscar fever, even Jonathan posted on it yesterday, and like many, I am ambivalent about them. I always try to see the five nominees for Best Picture, and I know a lot of others who try and do the same. Living in a West Alabama town with only only one 16-screen multiplex, it’s not all that easy, especially when one of them is Gus Van Sant’s Milk.
But my problems here seem like chicken-feed compared to where I used to live, in a small town on the coast of Oregon (population 2000) where the closest theaters were a half-hour up the coast and forty minutes down. Now I know that doesn’t sound like a long way to go to see quality cinema like Harry Potter and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, but if you’ve ever driven the Oregon Coast Highway you’ll know that it’s not a small thing. Often, in the middle of winter (four months of 100 mph storms), you couldn’t get to one or sometimes both of those little tiny towns.
When you got there, you would often find that the movie-going experience wasn’t exactly what the discerning cinephile might require. Each town on that section of the coast has a completely different character, brought about by years of isolation. They’re each about thirty minutes apart because that was about the distance a stage coach could travel in a day. In our town — Gold Beach — there was no electricity until the early 50s, and for many years, no way across the Rogue River, at the mouth of which it sits, except by ferry. There was a theater there in the 70s, but it burnt down and has not been rebuilt.
The Savoy Theatre, Port Orford, Oregon
Brookings (population 6000) is thirty miles to the South, give or take a Douglas Fir or so. As the biggest town in Curry County, it has a more cosmopolitan feel, what with all the Californians moving up to take advantage of the spectacular views and lower taxes. This gives the theater a much more suburban feel, with tough-looking kids hanging around, cheekily smoking cigarettes (or worse!) and saying stuff like “so’s your mama” and “you and what other army?” (ok, so I made the quotes up. I really don’t know what kids are saying these days. I’m getting old.)
Port Orford, thirty miles to the North, is much smaller, with only 1150 souls, and in part because of that, it’s lot quirkier. Even though it’s populated with everyone from crab-boat workers (ever seen The Deadliest Catch?) to retired mail-carriers, it’s got a distinctly counter-cultural feel. It’s motto seems to be the old Alfred E. Newman saying “What? Me worry?”
If you are lucky enough to get up or down the coast to see one of your two choices in cinematic excitement, you’ll find that the theaters are community centers as well as fabulous movie palaces. In the long, dark winters in those parts, there are much worse things to do than sit in a warm, padded seat, even if what they’re showing is Paul Blart: Mall Cop. And so at times — most of the time, actually — people are doing what they do in community centers: talking and visiting, even as the movie plays scratchily above them.
I remember one time when my wife and I want to see Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World in Port Orford. As Russell Crowe emoted onscreen, we began to hear tinkling, clanking sounds not on the soundtrack. Upon investigation, I found a gaggle of youngsters, sitting in the far aisle, playing with dolls and running toy trucks up and down the carpet. Nobody said a word, and neither did I: after all, I wasn’t from around there. I’d come from the big city 30 miles to the south.
RSS 2.0
Fortunately, I’ve always lived in a city. When I was a kid I was in Charleston, SC which isn’t exactly New York but there were multiple cinemas and even two, yes two, cinemas downtown (one was at the College of Charleston) that showed classic and foreign films. And this was in the seventies. Since the eighties I’ve been in the DC Metro area and have never had a problem seeing anything I wanted to see. If I don’t see it, it’s because I was too lazy. I can’t imagine being limited to a multiplex. But it’s a lot easier these days with Netflix I suppose, as long as you don’t mind waiting to see everything on DVD.
I’ve lived all over the country, starting in Wichita Kansas until I was 10, then Seattle until 22. Seattle was an above-average movie town even then, but I was too stupid to know it, and I went to see primarily American fare. Which wasn’t bad, those were the golden age of Altman and Penn and Peckinpah. But there were these arthouse theaters that are still there today, even though Landmark’s bought them all: the great Guild 45 and the Seven Gables, and all the repertory of the time played there — Fellini, Truffaut, Godard, Bergman — but I saw nary a one.
I, for one, sincerely miss the Savoy in Port Orford. The drive to the theater is one of the most beautiful and dangerous (snaking around Humbug Mountain and along the coast headlands). The theater is the heart of this little town and hosts birthday parties, reunions, concerts, and movies. I took our son, Mike, and his friend, Janna there to see Fahrenheit 911 when it was not playing anywhere else remotely near us. There was a “massive” voter drive happening in the dimunitive lobby. I am glad that the Savoy continues to be a vital family-owned business in a tiny town on the southern coast of Oregon.
Ha, really charming anecdotes here, Rick. Over time I’ve learned not to take for granted any movies I have in my vicinity. In the last 10 years I’ve lived in three cities (Boston, San Diego, Minneapolis) and always had at least three Landmark, arthouse or independent theaters within minutes of me. My future moves will likely depend on it…
Pam, I remember that. I couldn’t stand the thought of seeing Fahrenheit 911 again, because I knew I’d burst a gasket in anger if I did.
Dan, thanks. I’ve lives in some movie-rich places as well, and this one-multiplex town is not as bad as it could be. I’m ambivalent about Landmark. I wish there was one around here, but they bought up a boat-load of true independents and arthouses that made interesting programming choices . . . they’re better than the alternative, I guess.
I must say I found this particular post quite fascinating in a different kind of way as your review posts. As a practical city-dweller (I live minutes outside of Manhattan in northern New Jersey) I find this rural movie houses as places of memory-nostalgia that could define someone’s growing up, as perhaps being the center of cultural outlet or activity. Of course I think of two movies I dearly, dearly love, Tornatore’s CINEMA PARADISO and Bogdonovich’s THE LAST PICTURE SHOW (the latter I would identify as my favorite film of the entire decade of the 70’s)
Of course you basically admit the dual-function of movie houses with this:
“If you are lucky enough to get up or down the coast to see one of your two choices in cinematic excitement, you’ll find that the theaters are community centers as well as fabulous movie palaces. In the long, dark winters in those parts, there are much worse things to do than sit in a warm, padded seat, even if what they’re showing is Paul Blart: Mall Cop. And so at times — most of the time, actually — people are doing what they do in community centers: talking and visiting, even as the movie plays scratchily above them.”
There is something wonderful about this that doesn’t exists in the impersonal urban multiplexes we frequent. It’s priceless.
Beautiful essay here.
Sam, you’ve hit it on the head. There is something priceless about those rural/small town movie theaters, and they are unfortunately disappearing along with healthy small communities, as the general movement of jobs and then population to the cities in the U.S. accelerates.
Thanks, as always, for the great input.