Compare Your Life To Mine, Then Weep

I remember back when I got a certain feeling going into a movie theatre.
I'm not talking about any old theatre. Or, rather ANY ol' theatre. But there are two specifically that I have in mind when writing about this. Both theatres mean something different to me, and at one of them is still standing (for the time being). They're both a five minute drive from my house, and that's the way I like it.
The old Rialto Theatre in Ridgefield Park, a mere two minute car ride from my house, was a single-screen art house theatre, family-owned and -run. It'd been operating since at least 2001 as such, but I didn't "discover it" for myself until 2004, when I saw Farenheit 9/11 therein (not a great movie at all). The auditorium was old, with a single, massive screen and two wide rows of seats (I remember they were scarcely comfortable---not the reclining type with movable arms) and narrow aisles. Faux curtains hung in arrays along either wall, with a massive curtian lining the screen, which was set upon what must have once been a stage. The lights along the walls burned, buzzing with the surge of electrcity, and flickering on the same account. A chandelier hung in the center of the auditorium, not too big or elaborate, but still beautiful.
The ticket office was to the right side of the entrance, inset within the wall and separated by a glass partition. There was no ATM, no automated ticket counter...there was an actual person wearing not a uniform, but simply dress clothes, handing back the tickets. Once you enter the theatre, you were faced with the usher, and then the candy bar directly infront of you, with popcorn, soda fountain, and candy arranged before a wide mirror lining the back wall. To the left were the bathrooms and staircase leading to what I can only assume were the office and projector room. The sinlge entrance to the auditorium was to the right.
I've been to that theatre at least four or five times. Each time was with a friend (female, now that I think about it), or a girlfriend. Each was to see a movie I will never forgot, for one reason or another. Farenheit 9/11. Paris, Je'Taime. The Science of Sleep. Once. The last movie ever shown there was Cinema Paradiso, back in June. Now, why write about a theatre with old carpeting and uncomfortable seating? Well, because it existed (it's since been closed, gutted, and waiting to be torn down, crumbling in quiet indignity). It was the only art theatre in the area, and the only one that caught my eye every night home from the City, when my bus would meander past it, the marquee sign advertising next week's film. And, dammit, I miss the place. I miss knowing that I can go to a theatre that was small, and quiet, and intimate and meet people who appreciated good films (not to say that I'm elitist about my movies....Christ no. I mean, c'mon, my last review was for Punisher: War Zone...a movie I saw twice). But not every movie I see I want to see in a multiplex. And not every movie made deserves or should be seen in a multiplex with the reclining chairs and stadium seating. Sometimes I just want my atmosphere to reflect whatever content I was watching. It's like in Be Kind Rewind, at the end, when the video store is going to be closed up forever, and the community members who contribute to save it put in five bucks, or a dollar, and the contributions fall far short of the million or so dollars the characters need to save it, and by then all they want is to show their film just once, one last time: I feel like now I'm rallying for a cause that has been lost since June. To save the Rialto. To not let that family-owned theatre die. But it's dead. I hope the Teaneck Cinema, in my hometown, fares much, much better (which it has and should: mixing studio fare with independent movies is a great combination).
Another theatre I am witnessing decline is the Ridgefield Park AMC Cinema 12, a theatre in which I have fond memories. That used to be THE Theatre to go to. The big one ,where everyone would go on a Friday and Saturday night to see whatever huge movie was released. I remember seeing Batman Forever on the opening weekend, and that was the only movie (and still is, to date) I went to where the theatre was so packed people were standing along the walls for the entire duration of the film. That was where I saw The Matrix for the first time ever, having no idea what to expect. That's where I saw the first two Star Wars prequels, to packed auditoriums, and the last two Lord of the Rings films, to the same. The theatre is a two-story affair, with an arcade where I would play Time Crisis 3 or The Simpsons Game with my friends while waiting for whatever movie we happened to see. A staircase and escalator lined either side, and the box offices (in its heyday) were along the left and right-hand side of the lobby, and in the center was the snack bar, with another, smaller one further down the first floor in between theatre entrances, and a second, smaller snack bar in the center of the second floor. Today, only the right-hand side box office operates, and only the first floor center snack bar remains open. The arcade is shut down until the evening, and the auditoriums are hardly, if ever, full (I saw Punisher again with my girlfriend on Friday and we were the only two people in the theatre; when I saw Quantum of Solace on Sunday with my dad, we were 2 of only 4 people).
I remember ten years ago, sneaking into theatres with my former uncle, my sister, and sometimes my cousin, and we'd pay for one movie and sneak into another one when the audiences let out; we'd save soda cups and get free refills, and sneak snacks into the theatre. I'd constantly get child prices, as my uncle paid for movies and I waited near the arcade. Movies would play well into the late evening. We would wait 20 minutes to get parking, or wind up driving four stories up in the parking garage next door, since the place was so packed. I remember there were searchlights out front, like it was big event.
Those days are gone. There is a massive, relatively new multiplex in Paramus, a ten-minute drive from my house, that playes the newest movies in stadium, reclining seating, digital projection and surround sound. And I like that. I love seeing a HUGE action film played HUGE with GREAT sound and HUGE image. But even then, for some reason, I don't feel it. I don't feel comfortable in the Paramus AMC as I did in the Ridgefield Park theatre. Ridgefield Park was my heyday, where I'd leave school to see a movie, or spend 30 minutes in line waiting to see a Batman, or a James Bond, or a Matrix, or a Lord of the Rings. Those movies have come, gone, or changed. Ridgefield Park still stands, its customers preferring to pay $11 at Paramus as opposed to the $9 at Ridgefield.
I'll get used to the Paramus Theatre, and will still go to Ridgefield Park to see the smaller movies that play there (like Hamlet 2) or the movies that I'd seen already. But I'm sad to see a great theatre slowly die and seemingly be forgotten when there were so many good times that I had there. That was my high school theatre, my old stomping ground.
I wish I were able to buy it and turn it into a revival/art/current movie theatre, as my girlfriend suggested. I wish.

The Wrestler is playing in Los Angeles and New York City as of yesterday. I implore those of you who read this to watch it. It's really good...and stay for the credits to notice a familiar name...