The invention of streaming services for any and all digital content has undoubtedly changed the face of entertainment. No longer do we have to wait months to finish a series. Games are instantly downloaded onto our hard drives. The days of waiting in line for movie tickets and overpriced popcorn are over — but not for me.
I’m an introvert, so these streaming services have been a godsend. I have a vast selection of horror to choose from, from Amazon Prime, to Netflix, to Shudder, and even the older movies from my local used book store. But as much as I love sitting on my couch for an afternoon of scares, it just hasn’t been the same lately.
For instance, what if I want to watch a new release? I am not immune to trailers and comment sections. And unless I can wait 6 months for a movie to be put on VOD, I have to actually venture outside. So I drive to my nearest movie theater (probably on a crowded weekend), buy a $20 ticket, sit in a crusty seat, and pretend like I can’t hear someone answer a phone call at the movie’s climax. All that and I won’t even know if the movie is good or not until the end.
But then I experienced something that changed my movie game forever: luxury dine-in theaters. I first experienced one of these in college, a place called CinéBistro. A bar, a bowling alley, and pick-your-own seats for the movie. The pièce de résistance was the theater experience itself: leather reclining seats in groups of two that seemed to be miles away from the neighboring seats, a menu where you could buy beer, burgers, and the usual movie fare of popcorn and candy, and a screen that made the whole room feel bigger. Absolute paradise. Where had this theater been all my life? How could I ever go back to the humdrum theaters that squish me up to a couple making out? When I finished college and moved back home, I thought I’d lose that experience forever.
Until they built an Alamo Drafthouse a few minutes away from me. I had heard stories of the awesome atmosphere at Alamo, especially around Halloween. The location a few towns over had horror festivals and some guest appearances, things I wouldn’t want to miss if I had the chance to go.
The first time I stepped foot in my Alamo Drafthouse, I was absolutely blown away. The halls are lined with floor-to-ceiling posters of classic movies like They Live and The Amityville Horror. The theaters have the same leather seats that engulf your entire body. The menu had pages and pages of milkshakes, salads, pizza, mixed drinks, and more. The previews were a breath of fresh air as well; while you’re waiting for your food, retro commercials play on the screen, all related to the movie you’re about to watch. And they only show two or three trailers for upcoming movies. At the very end, there’s a PSA ensuring a manager will ask disruptive patrons to leave.
Did I die and go to heaven?
While not the most terrible thing in the world, visiting a movie theater wasn’t what it could have been (until now, at least). How do you enjoy a movie with so many distractions around you, and how could you pay so much for an hour and a half of people walking in front of your screen? Dine-in cinemas aren’t a new concept, but they’re so well-maintained that they feel squeaky-clean and almost… foreign. Before, movie patrons would be subject to appalling conditions, food, and overall experiences. But now, we can forget the 30-minute trailer sequences and crying children and focus on the film. Because that’s what we came for… a movie.
Now with high-end cinemas we’ve regained our date night destinations. Our mini-convention conquests. Our social gathering spaces. Our love for movies. In a way, creating something new like CinéBistro and Alamo Drafthouse has brought us back to how movies were supposed to be watched — in a state of awe, not just for the movie itself, but for the entire journey. We can forget the continual screaming of real-world problems and finally sit down and be taken into a fantasy world with magic and monsters and mayhem.
I’ve been on an emotional rollercoaster with movie theaters. The younger me loved going to see films like The Ring and get that audible audience-experience. But as I grew older, that experience dragged down my soul. It was a chore to drive to a place where I would be uncomfortable. I’m glad to say that these new-fangled cinemas have shown me that movies still have the charm they used to have. I’ll still enjoy my couch and Shudder afternoons, but when asked to see a new release (or the 20th anniversary remaster of The Ring), I get that same rush of excitement as I did in my youth. If you ever get the chance to experience a dine-in cinema, you won’t regret it. They make movies, movies again. It’s good to be back.
