Down and Out

Photo credit: http://www.oakstreetcinema.org/

Oak Street was one of the few places a movie lover in the Twin Cities could go to watch classics on the big screen. Over the years we flocked to the theatre for Hitchcock revivals, local independent releases, drum and bugle corps documentaries, lots of international films, and more than a few old black and whites. Some of our best family memories were made there... [queue time machine noise a la Wayne's World]

T, S, and I sat in the dusky theatre waiting for Melody Gilbert's documentary Married at the Mall to begin. S  was about 13 at the time and thus mortified to be seen out in public with her parents. Shlocky piano piped through the buzzing speakers as a rotund jazz singer sang provocative love songs into a microphone. She sauntered up and down the aisles warming up the crowd with wiggles, winks, and a booming voice. S leaned over her seat and whispered "Where do you find these things?" From her tone I knew she was impressed with her usually very un-hip mother.

We brought S and her little friend to a school night showing of Dr. Strangelove. The place was packed, and we clustered together in our seats divvying out Dots and licorice sticks. S and her friend, eyes bright with wonder, elbowed T and I. "Look!  That is Vineeta Sawkar! From KSTP!" The girls were very impressed that a local celebrity (a.k.a. news anchor) sat in the row behind us. We settled in, and I felt a tap on my shoulder. Vineeta Sawkar complimented us on bringing our kids to an important, fantastic old movie. "So many parents don't give their kids this kind of opportunity. It is great you are exposing them to good films."  Puffed up from her words and my inflated sense of good parenting skills, I leaned back in the comfortable chair. And fell asleep shortly after the opening credits.

One Saturday on a blustery winter night T and I enjoyed on a rare date. We ordered a large bucket of popcorn to share and held hands. We hummed along to Lara's Theme as Dr. Zhivago filled the screen, and soon we were lost in the saga of blizzards and tragic love. Intermission came two hours into the movie, and we left our popcorn in our seats as we got up to stretch and get a refill of Diet Coke. We were barely into the aisle when we witnessed a woman in curlers and a robe reach over the seats, grab our popcorn bucket, and begin to push large handfuls of the snack into her mouth. We let her keep the bucket.

When I read yesterday that the old Oak Street Cinema was demolished (thanks to a unanimous vote by Minneapolis's Heritage Preservation Commission) I thought, with much sarcasm, "Great, make room for more luxury student housing." Apparently college students need concierges and designer apartments with a view. In my day (do I sound like the angry guy yelling at the kids on his front lawn?) we made due with dilapidated houses filled with curb-found furniture. Stop teaching cursive to the kids and the whole world goes to heck. These college kids could have learned a lot from a few movie nights at Oak Street Cinema.