A few months after 9/11, Colson Whitehead wrote what I consider one of the finest pieces ever written about New York. Beyond paying tribute to New York, Whitehead’s articulates how we construct individual identity in major, ever-changing American cities.
You swallow hard when you discover that the old coffee shop is now a chain pharmacy, that the place where you first kissed so-and-so is now a discount electronics retailer, that where you bought this very jacket is now rubble behind a blue plywood fence and a future office building. Damage has been done to your city. You say, ''It happened overnight.'' But of course it didn't. Your pizza parlor, his shoeshine stand, her hat store: when they were here, we neglected them. For all you know, the place closed down moments after the last time you walked out the door. (Ten months ago? Six years? Fifteen? You can't remember, can you?) And there have been five stores in that spot before the travel agency. Five different neighborhoods coming and going between then and now, other people's other cities. Or 15, 25, 100 neighborhoods. Thousands of people pass that storefront every day, each one haunting the streets of his or her own New York, not one of them seeing the same thing.
Wow! What a writer!
I’ve revisited the piece frequently during the past year. Most recently, this week when Los Angeles’ Arclight Cinemas announced its plans to close permanently1.
I spent five years living in Los Angeles. Ages 18 through 23. I won’t waste your time reminiscing over how “formative” my years in LA were because the truth is everything’s formative when you’re in your late teens/early 20s. That’s why people roll their eyes when some 20-something jabroni writes a memoir. If you were actually doing anything impressive you wouldn’t have the bandwidth to write a memoir! Unless you’re like Malala or someone. However, I will say, I can’t imagine someone’s version of Los Angeles not including the Arclight. Driving past Sunset Plaza and craning your neck to figure out what’s playing in the Dome this week. That’s LA to me.
Much to my embarrassment, one of the main reasons I wanted to live in Los Angeles or New York was so I could watch movies in “limited release.” I remember visiting New York as a kid and seeing the poster for Almost Famous outside a theater with a big ‘LIMITED RELEASE - LA/NY ONLY’ sticker tacked on. I liked that idea of artistic exclusivity. Being one the first people to give your input on something’s critical worth (before Twitter). Not relying on some suit at a major theater chain to decide if your suburban megaplex deserves Being John Malkovich or Baby Geniuses 6: Potty Trained & Diaper Loaded.
So it became a personal commandment of sorts: Thou canst only livest inst New York or Los Angeles as an adult (for movie-related reasons). And I followed through on it. Arclight was one of the first theaters I saw a limited release movie in.
At the end of the day, Arclight Cinemas was a stupid movie theater, but that’s why I loved it so. It gave moviegoing the exact pomposity I dreamt of as a suburban teen.
The oversized lobby with costumes and props displayed behind bulletproof glass like some sort of niche, underfunded Hard Rock Cafe.
The staff members who introduced movies to the entire theater (even if you went to an 11am, Monday screening was the only person in the audience).
Elaborate PR campaigns that involved turning the Dome into a giant Minion or Godzilla for a whole month (as pictured above).
The name tags each staffer had to wear with their “favorite movie” on it, but never wanted to talk about.
Stupid! But wonderful and unfortunately rare.
When NY movie theaters closed - Sunshine Cinemas or Lincoln Plaza Cinemas, for example - I found myself disappointed but unsurprised. But the Arclight? It’s kind of inconceivable. It was the one independent (ish!) theater that seemed like it could weather the streaming-era and COVID with ease. I can’t really imagine driving by in the future and thinking, “Oh, I used to see movies there.”
I leave you with a few selected memories from my many, many hours spent at Arclight:
My short-lived routine of spending the Monday after the Emmys seeing whatever was playing in the Dome while incredibly hungover with my luggage in tow. I never looked up what was playing there until that Monday so it felt extra special. You’re not supposed to bring bags in but they were always cool because it was a Monday afternoon. It was the perfect midday, last day in LA activity before going to Hot Tub (my favorite LA comedy show) and grabbing the red eye back to New York. I saw Mother!, Predator and Ad Astra the three years I went to the Emmys. Mother! sucked so much. Predator was slightly better than Mother!, which doesn’t say much. I think Ad Astra is the last movie I saw there. Best of the three, but disappointing overall. A tradition I hoped to continue for many years to come…
For my 20th birthday, I insisted a group of about 10 friends accompany me to the opening night, midnight screening of my most anticipated movie of the year: Prometheus. Looking back, I don’t think any of my friends in that group had seen Alien before. I think two of us stayed awake the whole time. I left equally disappointed in the movie and my friends.
Interstellar on an edible in the Dome might’ve been the most life-affirming moviegoing experience I’ve ever had. That’s why you go to the movies!!
Super 8 on an edible in the Dome almost made me swear off weed forever. I had a full blown panic attack but didn’t want to worry the people I went with so I just kept quiet. I distinctly remember staring at the Dome ceiling and praying things would just go back to normal. They did not for about 24 hours.
Buying two tickets to see The Skeleton Twins on a second date with a mutual acquaintance. Getting in an argument with said acquaintance-date while driving to theater. Agreeing we should call off the date. Turning the car around and saying I’d drop them off but, “still want to make it back in time for the movie since I already paid for two tickets.” Immediately hitting extreme LA traffic after turning around. Sitting in said traffic in an uncomfortable silence that I occasionally interrupted with passive jokes about how “I always buy two tickets for movies anyway so I can have extra legroom.” Dropping said date off. Immediately speeding off without saying a final word and somehow making it back to Arclight just in time for the opening credits of The Skeleton Twins! Finding out a year later that this person thinks incredibly lowly of me in a tersely worded Facebook message. Thinking the movie was, “Ok!”
Seeing Whiplash on a very good second date with a musician who knew Mitt Romney. Forgetting to validate my parking after the movie but not wanting her to think I was super cheap because she knew Mitt Romney.
Submarine, which might’ve been the first movie I ever saw at Arclight. It was playing in limited release.
Okay, I just need to say real quick - I re-read this right before hitting send and I don’t want anyone to think I’m saying a movie theater closing is even close in magnitude to 9/11. That’d be absolutely wild if that was someone’s takeaway from this - and kind of funny to be honest - but no, I’m not. Okay scroll back up.