A TRIP TO THE MOVIES
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The other day brother Ross reminded me that Mom frequently spoke Pig Latin with my dad when planning outings for us four kids. “Shall we take them to the oovies-may?” she’d ask him. We immediately knew we were headed to the brick-front Colonial Theater in Monroe, New York. Yaaay!
Admission tickets were 25 cents. A large bag of popcorn cost 10 cents. Rudy Stravitz, a stubby guy with greying hair and a frown that never quit, owned the theater and stood by the door as we walked in, making sure we had bought tickets. His wife ran the concession stand where we bought Black Crows and Jujyfruit candy (at a nickel a box) that, after one bite, got stuck in our back molars for the entire 80 minutes of “Son of Paleface.”
Brother Robert remembers that, when we approached the concession stand, Mrs. Stravitz always gave us the fisheye, “as if we were going to carve up the seats with knives.” But going to the movies on rainy afternoons to see Roy Rogers or Tarzan was the hit of our summers.
So last week on a damp Friday afternoon, during our family reunion on the same property 50 miles north of New York City where we’d spent most of our youth, nine of us (sister, brothers, cousins, spouses) headed to Monroe to see BLACK WIDOW, Marvel Studios' action-packed spy thriller and blockbuster starring Scarlett Johansson.
We found a great parking spot and walked into a Megaplex on our first visit to an actual movie theater since March 13, 2020.
Tickets were $10 each for recliner Barcalounger-type seats. A bucket of popcorn cost $10. (Do the math: $180 before we pushed the button on the arm of the lounger to elevate our foot rests.) After 25 interminable minutes of Coming Attractions (I do believe we saw previews of every single movie released since the start of Covid), BLACK WIDOW credits finally appeared on the big screen.
“Damn,” Mr. Wonderful whispered to me and my brother. “My hearing aid battery just gave out.” “I don’t think you have to worry,” Robert said to Mr. W. And he was right: the volume approached the 120 decibel level. BOOM! CRASH! ROAR! SHRIEK! “Can you hear okay,” I asked Bob, 10 minutes into the action. “Loud and clear!”
For the past year and a half we’ve only seen movies on Prime or Netflix or Hulu in the comfort of our upstairs loft. We sit and watch in cushy blue leather recliners while wearing our PJs. I microwave a package of Newman’s Own Light Butter popcorn and we sip our toddies. If one of us needs a Rest Room break, we Pause the movie. We even have English subtitles so we understand everything that’s being said.
But I gotta say this: a trip to an actual movie theater felt like old times. Loved it. However, next time I’m bringing a down jacket.
