“going to the movies is the most public way to experience a secret. or, the most secretive way to experience the public.”
—durga chew-bose, too much and not the mood’s “summer pictures”
1
the dollar movie theater on wyoming avenue in billings, montana, doesn’t exist anymore. i went to see the emperor’s new groove with my aunt who lived down the street from the 3-screen cineplex—i don’t remember much, only that she let me have my own soda and popcorn. the height of childhood luxury.
2
the blockbuster on redlands boulevard is a chase bank now. my sister and i rented vhs copies of mary-kate and ashley movies and animated children’s shows. there’s a vivid memory of watching the store’s copy of fantasia one day while being sick at home. a few years ago, my high school english teacher posted a picture of himself working there when it was a music plus—before blockbuster—but i knew it was the same place by the proximity of ceiling tiles to the windows. a jolt of unexpected familiarity.
3
the amc foothills 15 in tucson, arizona. there wasn’t much to do during annual summer visits, with desert temperatures reaching upwards of 110 degrees. one day pops took us to see a movie and then we went bowling afterward. i always loved the feeling of different movie theaters—familiar enough but still different. the concession stand in a different part of the lobby; the bathrooms a bit further down the hall. just enough change to be mildly disorienting after two hours without sunlight.
4
the dvd collection at the ak smiley public library, back near the fiction stacks. we spent a summer renting the entire james bond series. when i ask my mom why we did that, she says, “because i watched all of them. my mom could tell us what was going to happen in those movies before it happened. they were absurd, suspenseful, glamorous. i felt like you needed to know about them… like the beatles.”
5
krikorian redlands cinema 14. movies offered me my first experiences in romance, both on the screen and in my own life—often simultaneously. the embarrassing agony of waiting for my sixth grade crush to sweep his sweaty palm over the armrest and into my waiting hand while we watched bridge to terabithia. building an elaborate plan to sit next to him during the pink panther, a small triumph in the presence of adult chaperones.
6
the space where fox video used to be, in the shopping center on the corner of lugonia and wabash, is vacant. on friday nights in middle school, there was a routine. school pick up, basketball practice, tacos and arcade games at the restaurant next to the video store, and renting a few movies, as dessert, before we returned home. as a result, becoming acquainted with nearly every romantic comedy that was released from 2005 to 2011, indiana jones, star wars, adam sandler, quentin tarantino, miranda july, and wes anderson. “what else would we have been doing?” my mom says, when i ask her about why we watched so many movies. “why do you watch movies now?”
7
the tan two-story house on kenwood drive and its family room with an overstuffed leather couch. a summer of swimming and aimless drives broken up by walk the line, amelie, and music documentaries. the blooming revelation that there is more to watching movies—that everything on the screen happens for a reason. that august was when the spires of cypress trees in his backyard started to look right to my eye, becoming synonymous with my corner of california. a compass that anchors me.
8
the fox theaters in redlands and riverside—movies as first dates. being cautiously optimistic to the tune of “here’s to looking at you, kid.”
9
demaray hall 150 was the biggest classroom on my college campus, but it was rarely filled even halfway. an unexpected perk of going to a small school was that film courses were included in the communications major, and i filled my schedule with them. my classmates and i would gather and collectively fall in love with hitchcock, antonioni, and fellini, suffer through all five hours and 25 minutes of heaven’s gate, and learn how to take marginally legible notes in the dark. something softly romantic about film classes in the colder months in seattle; a 6 pm meeting time called for taking the bus to and from campus in the dark, prematurely preparing my eyes.
10
the harvard exit theater on capitol hill was turned into a coworking space two years ago. a week into college, i boarded a bus going the wrong direction with three new friends to try to get to a showing of the perks of being a wallflower. our first experience in the city—one that felt so new and big but would be gobbled up in a few years’ time.
11
the amc pacific place 11, a movie theater in a downtown seattle mall. a period of going to the movies for the sake of going to the movies, when what was playing mattered less than the ritual of buying a ticket. spending the last city summer of my life scooping ice cream, reading and cataloging music press, and buying myself popcorn. sinking into the warm, familiar feeling of seeing a movie alone.
12
the egyptian theater on pine street is an island that i visit whenever i can. it turned nights of no plans into “meet the director” and afternoon coffees into whatever was on the marquee. velvet seats and a single screen.
tiny morsels
MUSIC: going on six days with this album on repeat, my go-to for halloween, and a song that i first found in the spring but reminds me of the fall
BOOKS: a transcendent debut, when a book feels like watching eight movies at once, and ottessa for october
INTERNET: i tend to think forgiveness looks the way it does in the movies, the aforementioned “summer pictures,” october is the bad month for the wind, and an essay about movies and writer’s block