Movie Buff

The closing of the Carlisle Theater coincided just as painfully with the end of old George’s mobility.  The last of the old flick houses in town closed its doors for the last time the same week he went in for his hip replacement surgery.  Not two weeks before he’d known he was taking in his last movie, fittingly a classic with Sands of Iwo Jima, in the old building complete with frailly mounted vase house lights, perennially sticky floors and faded crimson screen curtain that always parted with an audible strain he found so nostalgically charming.

Unbeknownst to him, at the same time his wife Ethel was putting her bare-bones computer proficiency to work with a visit to Cymax Stores, knowing that even if George could make it downtown to one of those fancy big-box cineplexes he’d rather not.  He was a purist – voluminously plush chairs? Dolby surround? Column house lights came up without an audible buzz of inferiority? Forget about it.  If the aisle carpet wasn’t a hopelessly-stained worn paisley pattern and his shoes didn’t tack upon entering a row, the sterility of it all meant it wasn’t a mo

vie house to old George.  

As the contents of the fallen Sergeant Stryker’s letter to his son make their poignant contrast to John Wayne’s gruff, unfeeling character to close the film, George knew he had to ta

ke a minute to soak it all in.  He reveled in the loud whir of the vintage projector one last time, paid heed to the charismatic stain on the left wall near the screen that seemed to be the remnants of an egg thrown decades ago.  He’d mused about its origins so many times while the Warner Bros. cartoons played before the feature film began.

As the credits began to roll, he closed off all else to hear the din of the house lights coming up.  One popped and brought a smile to the old man’s face.

Needless to say, he was the last one out.

His week of convalescence in the hospital was more than enough time for Ethel’s order of a Bass Forum Row of Two Movie Theater Chairs to arrive at their home.  The velour cherry upholstery option she had c

hosen matched the old chairs of the Carlisle quite nicely, minus the charismatic staining and odors mind you, and the panel arms with built-in cup holders and fold-up seat were as close to a vintage theater chair as you could find. She herself would have preferred a more modern and comfortable Lovan Matinee Theater Two Seater Chair, but, again, her husband was a purist in every sense.  He’d almost certainly stain his new chair purposely and let some soda dry on the linoleum beneath it.

It was quite understandable that George wasn’t exactly a picture of pleasantry on his way out of the hospital.  He refused the assistance of all the well-meaning staff who tried to help as he shuffled along with his walker, scowling and grumbling all the while with Ethel accommodating his grumpiness in a way only she could. The one orderly who did manage to follow at a safe distance helped him into their station wagon and they made their way home.

Ethel endured all his incessant pessimism during the drive, knowing the look on her husband’s face when they arrived would be so very worth it.  She had a copy of The Dirty Dozen cocked and loaded in the VCR and a bounty of microwave popcorn pre-emptied into a red pinstriped bag.

Now if only you could get a wooden console TV in 72 inches. Mono as well, of course.