Sitting in the darkness and munching on popcorn as you stare up at the screen with the greedy desire that you will be moved by the images that will soon appear before you, the thoughts occupying your mind typically aren't the physical people or location that currently surround you. Still, oftentimes the occurrences directly nearby implore more scrutiny than even the most ridiculous fictionalizations in celluloid. You see, much like the various films that pass through their rattling projectors, not all movie theaters are created equal.
Whether you encounter sticky floors and whiny adolescents or 13-shot-venti-soy-hazelnut-toting yuppies, the movies at each cineplex may be said to dictate their widely varying customers. Throughout my time in D.C., I've found the need to venture into the frequently disturbing and bizarre annals of several unique theaters in the area. Maybe you've found yourself in one of these illogically wacky buildings yourself, or experienced similar phenomena inside their clones across the country. Whatever your experience, here are my own accounts of explorations into two radically differing offerings of the dark containments which play home to our waking silver screen dreams.
Landmark's E Street Cinema primarily shows well-known independent releases. You won't see anything truly obscure here, but it's the prime location to catch up before Oscar night on all the critics' darlings you may have missed as you watched your "Dark Knight" DVD on repeat. Upon entering E Street, the first spectacle that may confront you is the radical abundance of berets. Even the most impassioned Parisian chapeau lover doesn't stockpile as many of these hats in their home as you will see in a matter of minutes here. This sort of fashion consideration is essential when planning your visit to E Street. I recently made the error of wearing a Jack Kerouac "On the Road" T-shirt to a screening of "Milk," and was accosted by no less than the box office manager, the popcorn guy, the ticket taker and two patrons regarding my opinions on the beat writers. There's a fine line dividing friendly conversation and a request for a spontaneous exposition of a literary movement, and in this case it was quite plainly violated. The food at the concession stand was more likened to a Bohemian café than an American movie theater, with five types of gourmet coffee to every generic soda brand. Still, it's easy to overlook these finer points of social disruption and oddity considering the overall strength of the films, which E Street, and its sister annex, Bethesda Row, select. That is more than can be said for AU's closest multiplex, the Mazza Gallerie.
What E Street exudes in character, the Mazza consumes in its blockbuster-hungry circus ceiling of doom. I've always found it a bit odd that such a garish expression of appeasement to the uncultured masses should be located in a marble building housing such unattainable fashions from stores such as Neiman Marcus. I suppose both stand as a temple to consumerism in their own schizophrenic way. The floors are so caked in days-old soda that to fall into one of the many puddles means facing the horrifying task of freeing your sole from a quicksand-like trap that would make La Brea seem like a balmy hot spring. Where E Street selects movies likely to win Oscars, the Mazza houses releases those for which your nausea induced by over-consumption of popcorn will probably be more lasting then any emotional response from the actual film. Considering this indiscriminating environment, the typical clientele of the theater usually includes noisy kids and overly enthusiastic young couples, who somehow manage to make going to see "Hotel for Dogs" an event comparable in excitement to what a tweeneybopper must feel at a Jonas Brothers concert. Still, what better company is there to spend in than this when seeing a movie about a kid-run foster home for dozens of adorable canines?
With such an amalgamation of cultural characters, the next time some misguided cynic informs you that sitting in the dim light of invented fantasies projected in front of you is more isolation from society than emergence into it, stick a beret on their befuddled cranium and take them down to visit the true sanctuaries of droll humanity.
You can reach this columnist at thescene@theeagleonline.com.
