This article was originally published on the Tribeca Future of Film web site, and was reprinted at Thompson on Film, among other sites. However, I decided to post it here as well, to make it easier to find and for archival purposes.

That sound you’ve been hearing over the last month that resembles the  opening strains of the soundtrack from Jaws is a collective moan from  true independent distributors and the mission-driven exhibitors who play  their films. The catalyst for this distress was a letter from Fox  Searchlight, which is now widely referred to as “the Searchlight  letter.”

courtesy of Universal Pictures

The letter simply stated that in 18 months, Searchlight would no longer be making 35mm prints of their releases, and so, if a theater is to continue to play Searchlight’s product, it will have to upgrade to a specific type of digital projection system.

The Searchlight letter may have been the final warning bell, but everyone in the film distribution and exhibition business has known this was coming for a while. NATO (no, not that NATO; the National Association of Theater Owners) has been on record predicting that this would be the last year of 35mm prints for at least the last several years.

So why are indies suddenly in such despair?

It appears that the real implications of this technological change are just beginning to dawn on them. And the issues are both simpler and more challenging than they seem on the surface. The key is that the change is more political than technological.

Let me take a step back and explain.

Over the last decade, the major studios—under the guise of piracy prevention and image quality (both highly admirable goals)—came up with a “standard” for digital cinema that is called the DCI standard (Digital Cinema Initiative). Projectors had to be a minimum of 2K resolution, the file format was standardized as JPEG2000, and a key system (called a KDM) was put into place that required all screenings to be authenticated specifically to the server and projector that was authorized to show it.

These requirements created systems that were (and are) very expensive. Fully outfitting a single screen with the necessary equipment can cost a minimum of $70,000, and potentially much more for larger auditoriums. If 3D capability is desired, the price goes even higher.

In order to convert as many screens as possible, as quickly as possible, a deal was cooked up to have the studios help subsidize the cost of the equipment. They all agreed to pay what is called a VPF (Virtual Print Fee) for each film that they play on a DCI compliant screen.

You’ll excuse me while I laugh out loud about this particular bit of terminology. The use of the “print” metaphor in this context strikes me as so hilarious, I sometimes wonder if it was originally intended to be a joke. You’ll find out below why it is indeed no joke.

Companies such as GDC, Cinedigm (formerly AccessIT), Christie (which also manufactures projectors) and others, became middlemen, providing financing for the equipment and collecting the VPFs from the distributors to apply against the financing costs. Each of these “integrators,” as they are called, has a slightly different deal to offer. Most of these details are not public because the parties are all subject to Non-Disclosure Agreements. However, the major points that they seem to have in common are as follows:

•    All the screens in a complex must be converted.
•    All films that are available digitally must be projected that way
•    All films shown digitally are subject to the VPFs, meaning even a local student film festival is theoretically subject to the same fees as a major studio release (an extreme example that probably could be worked around)

The VPFs are structured in a few tiers. The most relevant is that first-run movies, released during a film’s primary release period (I’m simplifying this a bit), are subject to an $800 fee. Second-run films (do these exist anymore?) are subject to a lower fee, which is calculated weekly until it hits the $800 cap.

Then there are fees called “Alternative Content Access Fees,” which are per-show and depend on day and time. The deal with the studios is that if they agree to pay these fees, then EVERYONE who uses the equipment must be subject to the same fees.

The VPFs are structured to emulate the ways in which major studios release their films. Wide releases from the studios in the 35mm era required prints that cost between $1500-$2500 apiece plus shipping. They typically lasted on screen only a few weeks on average, and then would be relegated to the dustbin. So for a studio, the $800 per engagement VPF actually represents a cost savings.

Why is this a disaster for indies?

The typical release pattern for a smaller independent film in the 35mm era was different. Films would open in a small number of cities, and the prints would be slowly moved around the country until they wore out, or the release was over. One of the key economic decisions in the release of such a film was the number of prints to make.

Releases could be modestly successful with as few as 2 or 3 prints. If the film started to catch on, a few more prints would be made until demand was satiated. In the meantime, costs were kept as efficient as possible. There is NOTHING in the VPF structure to emulate that release pattern—virtual or not.

So why not create a different structure?

The integrators are so fearful of losing the studio VPF income stream, they are loath to reopen those negotiations. The studios have signed off on the current model and have no motivation (short of an antitrust suit) to change it.

Ironically, it was the indies who were among the first to embrace the promise of digital projection. By delivering DVDs, and later using systems such as ours at Emerging Pictures (blatant plug), they were able to get films out more broadly and more quickly without the expense of prints.

However, these systems were (and are) not DCI compliant, so Searchlight and Focus (both major studio subsidiaries) are not permitted to project though these systems. This was fine so long as both of those companies were still making 35mm prints, as a non-DCI system could exist side-by-side with a 35mm projector.

So now you know why the Searchlight letter was such a bombshell.

With no more prints, if a theater wants to play films from one of the studio divisions, they have to go DCI. Theaters that play indie films are faced with a big financial decision depending on what mix of product they have traditionally played.

Art theaters that can’t play Focus or Searchlight films any way, have no reason to go DCI. Many theaters are too close to an AMC or Regal theater, and lose the more commercial art product to them.

I had a conversation recently with one such theater, and pointed out that the only mini-major film they had played in recent years was Shame, which they only got because its NC-17 rating prevented it from being shown at the local multiplex. Worse yet, the film didn’t do any business.

Is this privilege worth a $70,000 expenditure?

They’d be better off with a top notch non-DCI system, which would get them access to all the true-indie product. They could always upgrade a few years down the road as equipment prices inevitably plummet. Besides, there’s no guarantee that the DCI spec won’t change.

Then there are those art theaters that do play Searchlight and Focus films, and in fact depend on that product. In these cases, they should think hard about buying an entry-level DCI system (perhaps a used system) and financing it WITHOUT a VPF deal. Going without a VPF deal is a painful option for such theaters since, as John Toner of the Ambler Theater in Pennsylvania put it at the recent Art House Convergence, one hates to leave money on the table.

But perhaps the upside will be that even Searchlight and Focus might eventually decide that they’d rather play at DCI equipped screens where they are NOT required to pay a VPF.  If they do sign a VPF deal, they are basically cutting out any chance of playing smaller films that frequently would not make enough money to cover the VPF. The distributors of those films will have to start looking elsewhere to play their films.

While some in the indie world have promoted the idea of a boycott, I fear that such an action could hurt the very institutions that are our potential allies.

Rather, I feel we need to promote the following actions as a community:

•   We need to educate exhibitors about the advantages of forgoing a VPF deal. The price of that deal is their freedom to program what they want. It’s just not worth it.

•    In areas where an art house does sign a VPF deal, the independent distributors should find and consistently support an alternative venue. And when I say consistently, I mean even when a film crosses over to larger audiences, these alternative venues deserve to reap the benefits of those successful films, rather than losing those films to the big chains.

•    The independent distributors should get together and decide on an alternative specification to DCI, and agree on a business model to support it. Being non-DCI should not mean compromising the quality of the presentation. Right now, the hodgepodge of systems in the field is not providing customers with a consistent experience.

•   The systems need to be reliable and easy to use. Given how unreliable the DCI system has proven to be (I’ve already experienced three press screenings at three different film festivals that were cancelled because of defective KDMs), a more reliable non-DCI system would be a big selling point.

•   We have to learn to use the advantages of digital projection to improve the diversity of programming, indoctrinating new constituencies to appreciate the theatrical experience.

Finally, anyone up for joining in an antitrust case?

If you wish to see all the comments at the original blog you can find them here.

On the other hand, there is still an obstacle created by the rules that I strongly feel is not only unnecessary, but is destructive to the integrity of the award. Earlier today I expressed my displeasure in two tweets and the reaction was so strong that I felt that I should use more than 140 characters to flesh out what I was referring to. The tweets were as follows:

In case you didn’t know, @MMFlint is Michael Moore, who has been credited with influencing the Academy’s change of rules.

The problem I am referring to is something that I have been preaching for a long time. In fact, the best way to describe it is to quote an email that I wrote to Sid Ganis, who was then the President of the Academy, in 2005. Things have changed technologically since that time, but the issue is the same. Here is what I wrote:

Sid,

The current rules require a one-week theatrical run in either NY or LA at a minimum. The film must play in 16mm, 35mm or a very specific set of specifications that allow it to be exhibited digitally. The vast majority of documentary films are shot digitally these days, and in a wide variety of video formats, but mostly in mini-DV format. This includes such acclaimed work as “Mad Hot Ballroom,” “The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill” and “Darwin’s Nightmare” just to name a few. Taking such work and making it conform to the so-called D-Cinema standard, not only doesn’t make the work look any better on the big screen, but at times can actually make it look much worse. For example, a film called “This Old Cub” qualified for the Oscars last year through a one-week run at the Laemmle Fairfax theater. In order to qualify, the film was transferred (as per the requirements) to 24 fps from the original 30 fps. The artifacts of the transfer were so horrifying that the film was played at 24 fps only once per day to make sure it qualified, and then played the balance of its showings in 30 fps. The required transfer cost the filmmakers money they didn’t have, and the result was unusable for any other purpose.

In some cases filmmakers have resorted to making a $10,000 kinescope that nets a terrible transfer to 16mm—again, not usable for any other purpose.

It would seem to me that there is a discussion to be had about whether the current rules are not taking into account the reality of how most documentaries are made these days. Inadvertently, the current rules favor filmmakers with money over those who do not have the resources, and they create a scenario in which many films are forced to actually sacrifice picture quality in order to be eligible. Certainly, based on how highly Academy members revere the highest technical standards, this is not what was intended.

Don’t you think that the filmmakers are the best judges of how their films ought to be seen? I might add that independent theaters and festivals around the country and around the world have systems in place that are entirely suitable to exhibit this type of work, that are seen by audiences as having true theatrical quality, but are cheaper to employ and do not require the compromises in quality that the current Academy mandated spec requires.

As an Academy member myself, and having served on the documentary committee, I am painfully aware that there are many issues involved in this discussion, but given what is at stake, I believe it is worth a discussion.

Respectfully,
Ira Deutchman

1. The Descendants: It’s been a long time since I’ve been so moved by a film that I have gone to see it multiple times. The film’s portrayal of a family in crisis is as realistic as anything I’ve ever seen on film. And even though the surface level of the story is what one might call depressing, underneath it is a life-affirming exploration of the regret we all feel at momentous times in our lives. This is not only Alexander Paine’s most fully realized film, it is also George Clooney’s most nuanced performance. It’s far more entertaining than it has any right to be.

2. The Interrupters: Arguably a better film than “Hoop Dreams.” Now, with two masterpieces under his belt, Steve James rises to the first ranks of documentarians. The only possible explanation for the film not getting short listed for the Oscars is that the committee doesn’t appreciate the talent it takes to be in the right place at the right time, and to have the trust of the subjects to the point where they forget the camera is there. The characters in the film are so vivid that it brought to mind ”The Wire.”

3. Take Shelter: Of the two (sort of) apocalyptic/depressive films on this list, this is the one that had me on the edge of my seat. It’s beautifully made and acted, and produced enough anxiety to make Hitchcock jealous.

4. Margin Call: In its matter-of-fact way, it dramatizes the cancer that is at the heart of what’s wrong with the society we live in. The characters are various shades of greed and evil. Yet, you can recognize them as your next door neighbors.

5. Moneyball: Does for baseball statistics what “Social Network” did for Facebook–takes a very ”inside” subject and makes it accessible, personal and dramatic. It’s no accident that Aaron Sorkin had a hand in both. Brad Pitt is a perfect Billy Beane, and does it with an understated intelligence.

6. Melancholia: The second of the apocalyptic/depressive films on this list, Von Trier’s is aspiring to higher art, and hits the mark. The opening “overture” is as gorgeous and brilliant as anything that has been on screen in quite some time. And what follows is as puzzling as it is dramatic. I’ve never been much of a Von Trier fan, but this film is in another world.

7. Tree of Life: This is a film that grows on you the more you think about it and talk about it. I don’t buy the totally religious interpretation I’ve heard from others. Malick’s view of grace vs. nature is more complicated than that and there are moments where both world views are presented in ecstatic terms. Suffice to say, I need to see it again.

8. Contagion: What Soderbergh’s straightforward pandemic drama lacked in hysterics, was made up for in sheer realism, which only made it more frightening. I wash my hands so much more often than I did before.

9. Shame: McQueen’s exploration of obsessive behavior is less about sex than it is about loneliness. McQueen’s imagery is hypnotic.Fassbinder’s performance is typically brave and extraordinary, but Carey Mulligan is the revelation. Her performance of “New York, New York” may forever redefine that song.

10. Win Win: I’ve been a fan of all of Tom McCarthy’s films, but this comedy-drama is his most accessible and entertaining film to date. The opening sequences made me thnk that it was playing a bit too broad and contrived for my taste, but as the film went on, it won me over.

Honorable Mentions (in no particular order):

Drive
Hugo
A Separation
In the Family
We Need to Talk About Kevin
Super 8
Margaret
Warrior
50/50

It was great fun to hear the stories from these smart and ambitious students, and I can only hope that we were of some help to them. Below is a photo of the whole gang.

Comments after the break…

It was surprising to hear from Nik on a weekend, even though we were in the process of working on a film together. I rested the phone on my shoulder and continued making breakfast. The conversation went something like this…

NIK
Are you sitting down?

ME
Nope. What’s up?

NIK
River’s dead.

ME
You’re kidding.

NIK
No.

Nik filled me in on the horrible details. River Phoenix, one of the stars of the film “Dark Blood,” which Nik was producing and my company, Fine Line, had co-financed, had died of a drug overdose.

The film, which was being directed by George Sluizer and co-starred Judy Davis, had just completed the first half of principal photography. The shoot had been difficult–scorching hot weather on a desert location and much discord on the set. I had heard that, in particular, Sluizer was not getting along with the actors. The desert portion of the film had wrapped and there were a couple of days off before they would start to shoot the interiors in Los Angeles. River had just arrived in L.A. and went out on the town to blow off some steam. Now he was dead.

In the office on Monday, I was besieged by reporters wanting any tidbit of information I could supply about River’s death. In particular, they were looking for footage from the unfinished film to use for their newscasts that evening. As I repeatedly insisted that we had no such footage, I stared at a pile of VHS cassettes on my desk. I actually had all the rushes right there–every foot of film that had been shot in the desert.

As the day came to a close, I put all the VHS cassettes into a Federal Express box, inserted a note and shipped them off to River’s mother. My note said something like, “I’m sending these to you just to make sure they don’t end up in the wrong hands.”

The film itself ended up as one big insurance claim. There was no way to complete it since half the film had yet to be shot.

It was therefore with great interest that I read that George Sluizer recently announced his intention to finish the film. He said that the Phoenix family was cooperating, and that Joaquin would record a voice-over. None of this made sense to me based on what I knew about the history. The next day, I was relieved to see a response from River’s mom stating that in no way would the family cooperate.

For what it’s worth, here is my opinion…

Any attempt to finish “Dark Blood” would be a travesty. It would be trading on River’s fame in the most sordid kind of way. Is this what Sluizer needs to revive his directing career? The only legitimate use I can think of for that footage would be to incorporate it in a serious documentary about River and his remarkable career. Otherwise, let him rest in peace.

On a recent trip to Chicago, I walked around the Loop–the site of many of my most formative movie moments–and was astonished to see how little was left of what was one of the most beautiful movie theater districts anywhere. It made me very sad, but motivated me to write this piece about the movie theaters for which I have the fondest memories. They are in chronological order according to where they fit in my life.

The Park Plaza Theater in the Bronx was most likely my first movie theater experience. It was only a few blocks from where we lived, and this is where my mother first exposed me to movies. I remember the matrons in their white suits and flashlights trying to keep the kids–who were required to sit in a separate section unless they were accompanied by parents–quiet. The first movie I actually remember was a film that terrified me at the time. It had images that stuck with me throughout my life, even though I couldn’t remember what film it was. It was only as an adult that I realized that the movie I had seen was “20,000 Leagues Under the Sea.”

Loews Paradise, also in the Bronx, was a magnificent place. Even as a kid, going there to see a movie was a special occasion. I remember being on a shopping expedition with my mother to Alexander’s (right across the street from the Paradise) and seeing banners and posters for ”Tom Thumb” with Russ Tamblyn as the little guy. I became obsessed with seeing that film, until my parents finally gave in and brought me to see it–even though it would have been cheaper to wait for it to play in a closer neighborhood theater.

Another memory that sticks with me is when I went to see a Jerry Lewis film at the Paradise–I think it may have been “The Bellboy”–with a neighbor who used to babysit for me. She was a huge Jerry Lewis fan and, throughout the film, she was laughing so hard, she kept hitting me.

In the early ’60s, my family moved to the south side of Chicago. My neighborhood movie theaters were only a short walk from where we lived. Almost every weekend, I went to see whatever was playing at those theaters. There was the Hamilton and the Jeffery, both on 71st Street, and the Chelton on 79th. Since this was before the ratings system, there were many films coming out that I wanted to see that had been designated as “adults only,” so I was prevented from seeing them without my parents. Fortunately, every Sunday the Chelton had a special kiddie matinee for 25 cents admission. As the kiddie film was ending, if you hid out in the men’s room, you could wait until after they cleared the theater and stay to see the adult film that came afterward. So every Sunday, I dragged my brother Larry to the Chelton and for a quarter (he got in free), we saw such “adult” films as “The Spy Who Came in From the Cold,” “Fate is the Hunter,” and “Goldfinger” (which my parents were furious about my having seen once they saw the provocative poster). They had no idea that I was in the process of reading all the James Bond books, which were far racier than the films.

Another neighborhood theater was the Avalon, which was a huge movie palace and as magnificent as the Paradise. When something played at the Avalon, it was well worth walking the slightly extra distance to see it there. The Avalon mostly played big event movies after they completed their downtown roadshow runs, like “Lawrence of Arabia” and “West Side Story.”

One day, I heard that the Avalon was one of a dozen or so theaters in the Chicago area that was going to have a special screening of “Having A Wild Weekend,” and that the Dave Clark Five were going to appear in person at the theater. Apparently, the promoters had timed things so that the group could appear at each of the theaters where the film would be playing that day. The big show at the Avalon was a Saturday morning matinee. I got in line early, and was shaking with excitement when I realized that I would indeed get in. There were more than 2,500 seats and the place was packed. A man came out on stage and announced that the group would be making its appearance before the film, and would be there momentarily. The crowd started to scream. Moments later, the Dave Clark Five marched out on stage, and the place went wild. There was a scuffle near the stage and the next thing we knew, the five of them had left the stage. The lights went off and the movie started. The next morning, it was in the newspaper that one of the group had suffered a broken wrist in the “near-riot” that ensued at the Avalon.

After awhile, I began to get impatient waiting for new movies to make it to the neighborhood theaters. I was also old enough to go to the Loop by myself, either by taking the Illinois Central train or, in good weather, riding my bicycle along Lake Michigan.

The theaters in the Loop started running shows at 9am, sometimes with no one in the audience. Many years later, when I was already in the film business, I was told that the Chicago projectionists union was one of the strongest in the country, and that the projectionists had to be paid for the full day whether there were shows or not. So most of the theaters simply opted to go ahead with the shows. This was great for me, since I could get there early and see films that would have been difficult to get into later in the day.

There were many gorgeous theaters in the Loop, but I had two favorites, The United Artists and the Woods. They were both grand movie palaces and had long histories that were completely lost on me at the time. All I cared about was that they were showing the latest, greatest movies. And they knew how to market them. The theaters tried to outdo each other in terms of the special displays they created for the films that were playing. The entire fronts of the theaters were covered by photos and posters for the films. The marquees screamed out whatever sensational lines they could think of to entice people into the theaters.

Of the many films that I saw at the Woods, one of my fondest memories was seeing “A Hard Days Night” the week it opened. The place was packed with screaming kids. I was way up in the balcony. When the Beatles began singing a song, the entire audience clapped along.

My recollection is that a lot of the films that played at the Woods were horror films or thrillers. I recall seeing a few William Castle films, some of the Edgar Allen Poe adaptations by Roger Corman and, in 1967, “Wait Until Dark,” for which they advertised that all the lights in the theater would be turned off for the last few minutes of the film. I can never remember being so scared in a film.

At the United Artists, I recall stumbling into an early morning showing of ”A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum,” not knowing anything about the film other than the strange title. I laughed so hard that I went back several more times to see it.

Right down the block from those theaters were the Cinestage and the Michael Todd. These were the more prestigious theaters, where you could see the latest blockbuster roadshow releases–in many cases a completely different (longer) version of the film than would be released in the neighborhoods. At these theaters I saw “2001: A Space Odyssey” (several times) and ”The Sound of Music” (several times), among many more “event” films.

In 1967, we moved again, this time to Highland Park, in Chicago’s north suburbs. My theater of choice was the Edens Theater, which was visible from the Edens Expressway. Unlike all the previous theaters, the Edens was not an old theater. It was a modernist masterpiece and a state-of-the-art facility that frequently had exclusive runs of films for the entire North Shore. Since it was a single-screen theater, hit films would settle in and play for long periods of time. One day I went to see “Bonnie and Clyde” at the Edens; I believe that was the moment I decided I wanted to make movies some day. I’m sure the massive screen and the incredible sound at the Edens added to the experience. I went back and saw “Bonnie and Clyde” at least five times, and since I didn’t have my drivers license yet, each time I saw the film one of my parents had to drive me. One day, as I was settling into my seat in the nearly empty theater,  my Dad suddenly sat down next to me. I must have looked shocked as he said to me,” You keep coming to see this film so much, I decided to see what it is you like so much.” Throughout the film, he kept looking at me, wondering what kind of pervert he was bringing up.

A year or so later, my uncle was visiting from out of town, and took me to the Esquire on the north side of Chicago to see a film that he had read was all the rage. The Esquire was a beautiful deco palace, and one of the nicest places to see a film in Chicago. I would go there many times over the years, the last time being for the premiere of “Hoop Dreams” decades later. The film was “Easy Rider,” and it was on a double bill with a foreign language film that I can’t remember. They also showed a short called “De Duva (The Dove),” a great parody of early Bergman (It’s available on YouTube). My education continued.

A couple of years later, we moved again, this time to Paramus, NJ. The most spectacular local theater was the Stanley Warner Route 4. It started as a single-screen 2,000 seat theater, added a second screen in the the mid-70′s and eventually was carved up into little pieces. I practically lived at the theater all through high school. One memorable experience was trying to get in to see “Woodstock” and being turned away because I was too young. It looked to me like they were turning away the entire interested audience.

I also spent a lot of time at the Bergen Mall Cinema, which was the local art house. Here I saw such films as “Women in Love,” Fellini’s “Satyricon,” “Zabriskie Point,” and numerous films that were distributed by Cinema 5, a company that I would end up working for a number of years later. It was eye opening, and contributed to my radicalization in my teenage years.  This theater may have been a shoebox in the middle of a suburban mall, but it was responsible for expanding the horizons of the youth of Bergen County. [Interestingly, I can't find any decent pictures of either of these two theaters.]

Then it was off to Chicago again, where I went to college. In Evanston, where the Northwestern campus was located, there were two downtown theaters, the Varsity and the Valencia. They were both smaller movie palaces, but by the early ’70s they were in bad shape, mostly showing grindhouse films. That didn’t mean that I didn’t check them out. Given the recreational bent of the times, hanging at those two theaters could be a lot of fun.

However, the real action was in Chicago, and there were theaters showing films for every taste. The Carnegie was the fancy art house, playing the latest foreign language films that were being written about in the New York Times. It was architecturally undistinguished and shared the same building with Mr. Kelly’s night club and a large parking structure. But the presentation was first class.

Repertory cinema was all over town, most notably at the Biograph and at the Playboy at Clark and Division, which my college roommate referred to as the “center of the world.” The Biograph, of course, is world famous for being the place where Dillinger was killed after seeing a movie. The seat where Dillinger sat that night was painted gold so that patrons could find it easily. There was something special about seeing a film from the ’20s or ’30s in a setting that was so authentic to that time.

The Playboy was nowhere near as atmospheric, but it’s programming was something else. By day, the theater was an art house, playing the second tier art films that couldn’t get bookings at the Carnegie. But by night the Playboy became Chicago’s best repertory house. They called it the “Playboy All-Night Show,” and it was a different double feature every night, starting at midnight. One night it would be two Marx Brothers films, the next night two Ken Russell films, the next night, two by Antonioni. It was like someone was programming my Netflix queue, only in a movie theater. You can imagine my many bleary-eyed mornings, trying to stay awake through classes after having sat through two amazing films that ended at 4:00 am or later. (Yes, that’s Roger Ebert posing in front of the Playboy.)

After college, I ended up moving to New York City. I got a job with Cinema 5, which owned and operated most of the classiest theaters in Manhattan. It was a dream come true. Every Friday, the office manager would come by everyone’s desk and hand them 4 passes to any of the theaters, with an expiration date of the following week–use it or lose it. No chance of that for me. If anything, 4 passes were hardly enough, and I took to asking around for passes that others weren’t using.

The theaters were well-kept to the point of obsessiveness. I would be asked to run over to a theater to make sure the bathrooms were clean. The presentation was classy and always top-notch.

My absolute favorite of the theaters was the Plaza, which was the most atmospheric. I experienced some of the earliest examples of the coming American Independent movement at the Plaza, including “Hester Street,” “Pumping Iron,” “Harlan County USA” and others. Since the Plaza was right around the corner from the Cinema 5 office, we had our acquisition screenings there, so I spent many a morning drinking my coffee and eating my bagel in the first row of the loge section of the theater, screening some movie that we might be interested in acquiring. After awhile, the theater manager permitted me to park my bicycle in the theater when I rode it to work.

I always loved Cinema 1 and 2 on Third Avenue. It was before they had carved it into a third theater, and before it was allowed to get run down. It was a glittering example of a thoroughly modern movie theater, eschewing curtains for a black fabric strip that would come down from the ceiling before each show to mask the proper screen ratio. I used up a lot of those Cinema 5 passes at these theaters. When I started working there, Robert Altman’s “Nashville” was just beginning a record-setting run at Cinema 2. I had already seen the film once at the Esquire before leaving Chicago, but now I had the chance to see it over and over again, and I did. I probably saw the film 20 times in my first six months working at the company.

Another favorite was the Beekman. It was an art deco jewel, and probably the most beautiful movie theater that I’d ever seen that was built to be a movie theater. Woody Allen also loved the Beekman, and typically insisted that his films open there. I recall seeing “Love and Death” many times at the Beekman.

But I didn’t spend all of my time at the Cinema 5 theaters. I still had a taste for older films and frequented Dan Talbot’s New Yorker, and the Thalia, both of which were in the neighborhood where I lived. This was the golden age of double features, and the New York rep houses were trying to outdo each other in the cleverness of their programming.

In the years since, as my career led me to do business with many of the theaters I grew up with, I never lost my fondness for them. But one-by-one, just about all the theaters I have mentioned disappeared.  The Thalia still exists, but the original parabolic floor has been straightened out and there is no longer any fixed seating. Cinema 1 & 2 have spawned a 3rd screen that has wrecked the perfect symmetry of the other two. The Biograph has been renovated and is being used by a theater company. The Esquire was cut up into smaller theaters many years ago, and now sits empty. The Avalon also sits abandoned.  The Paradise is still there and has recently been partially restored, but it’s mainly used for events. All the rest are gone.

If you enjoy this subject, you owe it to yourself to check out the Cinema Treasures web site. I found many of the photos used in this piece on that site under a Creative Commons license. Full photo credits below:

Photo Credits:
Park Plaza: NYCago.com
Loews Paradise: Brad Smith, Cinema Treasures
Hamilton: Nick Coston, Cinema Treasures
Jeffery: Senorsock, Cinema Treasure
Avalon: Ira Deutchman
Woods: John P. Keating Jr, Cinema Treasures
United Artists: John P. Keating Jr, Cinema Treasures
Michael Todd: John P Keating Jr, Cinema Treasures
Edens: Didi, Dim Beauty of Chicago
Esquire: Ira Deutchman
Varsity: Ira Deutchman
Carnegie: David Zornig, Cinema Treasures
Biograph: Norman Plant, Cinema Treasures
Playboy: Tim O’Neill, Cinema Treasures
Plaza: William, Cinema Treasures
Cinema 1&2: Dave-Bronx, Cinema Treasures
Beekman: Patrick Crowley, Cinema Treasures
New Yorker: MovieswithDad, Cinema Treasures

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Conclusion:

It was with a combination of hope and fear that we approached the George Washington Bridge. The first sign of the new world we had entered was the substantial police presence at the toll plaza.

Then from the bridge, we got our first glimpse of the new skyline. Beth recalls it being like a blow to the solar plexus. We were both getting choked up. Beth started to cry.

Entering our apartment provided a sense of security that only “home” can provide, no matter that everything outside was now different.

But our little adventure was over. Our hurried trip as a family to Toronto, Chicago and back had served many purposes. Born out of the perceived need to deliver a film print and to deliver our son to college, it turned into a family catharsis. We were able to work through our anger, our fears and a whole host of other issues, and to do it as a family. By staying together, we instinctively knew that whatever was to come, we would deal with it… together. And by staying on the move, we avoided sitting in front of the television and wallowing. In other words, we dealt with this new threat in our lives by staying busy.

In the coming days and weeks, we would be subjected to much more that was new.

There was the foul smell of melting plastic (or was it the burning of human remains?) The smell only wafted as far uptown as the upper west side for short periods, but was pervasive further downtown where my office was at that time. It was only later that we learned that the fumes we were breathing most likely were toxic.

We also had to get used to new subway routes that were frequently changed, making Manhattan a much less transportation-friendly place. Then, there was the continued military presence.

But little by little, things got back to something close to normalcy. Life goes on.

*****

I’m writing the last part of this story from the Toronto Film Festival on September 11th, 2011, exactly 10 years after this story began. Among the ironies of this being the case is that I just spent the morning with Tanya Wexler, who is here 10 years later for the world premiere of “Hysteria,” the first film that she has directed since our misadventure with “Ball in the House.”

Acknowledgements:

Thanks to Beth for collecting all the newspapers that are used as illustrations throughout these posts, and for helping me fill in some holes in the story that I had forgotten. Finally, and most importantly, for saying “yes” all those many years ago.

Thanks to Stephen Dyer and Tanya Wexler for also filling in some details…

and to the Toronto Festival for continuing to be my home for one week every September.