The Three-Foot-Wide Window

As a child, when I went to the movies, I always noticed the small three-foot wide window on the back wall of the auditorium at the top of the wall and I always wondered, "What goes on up there?" Little did I know that several years later, I would indeed learn what goes on up there and how it would change my life forever.

During the summer of 2004, before I turned nineteen, my Dad took me out to lunch for my birthday. I had been unemployed for two months and he asked me what I wanted to do with my life other than sitting at home all day. Feeling put on the spot, I told him simply I liked to watch movies. My Dad suggested I apply to work at the local movie theater. I shrugged and decided to give it a shot. After all, what did I have to lose?

The time between filling out the application and getting the call for an interview is a little hazy, but I do remember sitting in the interview and being asked basic interview questions like "Why do you want to work here?" and "How would you deal with customer complaints?" My answers must have impressed them because I was offered the job only days later. I, of course, accepted.

Path of a film through a projector.

My first tasks to tackle were ringing up snack bar transactions and scooping popcorn, a chore I became quite familiar with over course of eight years. Through what I believe was good work ethic and attitude (the incentive of free movies driving me), I was promoted after three months to an assistant manager and began training for the arduous task of projection. It took me about two months to really understand the position of being a projectionist, because not only was I in charge of four large, constantly running projectors, but I had a crew to manage as well, most of whom were high-schoolers at their first job.

Over time, I gravitated toward dealing with the films themselves, training my staff to run on auto-pilot while I was upstairs in the booth splicing together reels of a movie or rewinding trailers back onto their corks to ship back to the studios. I sometimes think that was a bad management technique on my part, but I suppose I'll never know for sure.

It was during my tenure as a projectionist that I truly felt I was doing what I was called to do. I had never wanted to learn about the process of film or the inner workings of the movie theater industry until I was able to feel the slickness of film between my fingers. Watching a movie run through a projector at twenty-four frames a second is a feeling I will never see again, but a feeling I will never forget.

It is a job I miss dearly, but, unfortunately, the way of projection is diminishing quickly. Studios are forcing movie theaters to turn digital, which, in turn, is putting many mom-and-pop movie theaters out of business. It is a trade that is going extinct and though I cannot speak for any past or present projectionist out there, I know it is a job that I will look back on and remember how fortunate I was to have been a part of it.

I solved the mystery behind the three-foot-wide window and it changed my life. Not only did I leave the job with a wealth of information that I would be thrilled to share with you should you find the interest, but while working there I met the love of my life, who also loves the movies and after three years of marriage, we're still watching movies and enjoying them together.

A Majestic Monologue

I, like hundreds of thousands of people, have been watching movies my entire life. In fact, the first movie I ever saw in theaters was Honey, I Shrunk the Kids (1989). I don’t remember seeing it in a filled auditorium as I had just turned four, but I have the ticket stub to prove it, thanks to my Mom for holding on to little things like that.

I can’t tell you exactly when I was bitten by the film bug. Perhaps it was when my Mom took me and my brothers to see The Lion King (1994) at the local movie theater, at which I would later work; the first film I remember seeing there. We arrived early to stock up on soda and popcorn, a nine-year-old kid’s dream come true; picked out the perfect seats and prayed that the seat in front wouldn’t be filled by a man who took the idea of the nine-year-old kid’s dream too far; and prepared myself to see an animated movie with lions that are larger than life and, though I wouldn’t know it at the time, become one of my favorite animated films.

It could be when I was the first person lined up outside the theater to see the first Star Wars prequel, the movie everyone had been talking about since it was announced. Though it would later succumb to pan reviews, there is still the fact that I had Ticket Number One for Saturday, May 20, 1999. By the way, I still have the ticket sub for that, too.

But I think I’ve always attributed my love of film to a little movie starring Jim Carrey called The Majestic. For those that haven’t had the opportunity to view it, Carrey stars as a screenwriter who becomes blacklisted during McCarthyism and crashes into the river after a night of drinking. He wakes up in a small town that is hurting from the departure of a young man to the war. When he is found by a local fisherman and taken to the diner, he is mistaken for the hero who left the community. Carrey begins to believe he is this man and starts to live the man’s life. His father, played brilliantly by Martin Landau, owns the local movie theater, The Majestic, and reminisces about how a single movie, no matter what it is, can bring an entire community together.

He quotes: “That's why we call it The Majestic. Any man, woman, child could buy their ticket, walk right in. Here they'd be, here we'd be. 'Yes sir, yes ma'am. Enjoy the show.' And in they'd come entering a palace, like in a dream, like in heaven. Maybe you had worries and problems out there, but once you came through those doors, they didn't matter anymore. And you know why? Chaplin, that's why. And Keaton and Lloyd. Garbo, Gable, and Lombard, and Jimmy Stewart and Jimmy Cagney. Fred and Ginger. They were gods. And they lived up there. That was Olympus. Would you remember if I told you how lucky we felt just to be here? To have the privilege of watching them. I mean, this television thing. Why would you want to stay at home and watch a little box? Because it's convenient? Because you don't have to get dressed up, because you could just sit there? I mean, how can you call that entertainment, alone in your living room? Where's the other people? Where's the audience? Where's the magic? I'll tell you, in a place like this, the magic is all around you. The trick is to see it.” 

That’s the reason I love movies. It’s the reason I go back again and again to see the stories that make me laugh, make me cry, make me root for the hero and loathe the villain. It’s the reason I stuff my face with popcorn and glue my teeth together with Milk Duds. It can all be attributed to a single monologue by a man who, himself, is a god up on that screen. The gods all of us enjoy watching again and again because, whether we say it or not, there is a part of us, big or small, that loves the movies.