Idol Worship

I saw the light in 1971. Long before “Les Miz” and “Wicked” came along, I went to the Capitol Theatre for my very first time. Stepping into that wonderfully ornate cavern adorned with red carpet, cherubs and filigree, I took my seat. Magically, the massive red velvet curtain opened slowly to unveil Sandy Duncan and Dean Jones in “Million Dollar Duck.” It was a moment I’ll never forget and the beginning of a lifelong love for movie theatres.

As a kid in Poplar Grove, The Arcade was our neighborhood movie house. It was a little box of a theatre that had been around since my parents were kids. I saw “Live and Let Die” there in 1973 and don’t remember much other than alligators and a dixieland funeral procession. Oh, and the Paul McCartney theme song. 

Just a short bike ride away in Glendale was the Jerry Lewis Theatre. It was in a strip mall between Gibson’s Discount and my dentist’s office. One day they had a “Planet of the Apes” marathon where we could “Go Ape for a Day!” The manager dressed in an ape suit and scared the bejeebus out of us as we exited the auditorium. In 1972, I went to see the Poseidon Adventure with my sister Gail. She had seen it already and pointed at the poster in the lobby telling me of all the characters who will die by the end. I was furious.

1976 was a landmark year. I took the No. 17 bus from Poplar Grove to my favorite block downtown. JC Penney, Keith Warshaw and Co. and Broadway Music were there —and The Broadway Theatre. They usually played Kung Fu movies if I remember correctly, but that day it was John Wayne, Lauren Bacall and Ronnie Howard in “The Shootist.” I don’t remember much about the movie. I just remember it was a momentous day. It would be the first of my many solo trips to the movies.

The Utah Theatre was the Grande Dame of Main Street. By the time I started going there, it had been split into two theatres—the Utah 1 and the Utah 2. It was even more glorious than the Capitol Theatre and has been vacant for a few decades now. There are hopes for a renovation but sadly, the wrecking ball seems more likely. As a kid I went there to see “Murder By Death,” and “Earthquake.” It was in Sensurround! “Midway” was, too, but I’ve never cared for war movies. I went just to feel the seats rumble.  As a teen I remember going to a midnight showing of “Monty Python and the Holy Grail” doing everything in my power to stay awake. The last movie I saw at the Utah was “Caravaggio” — a foreign film that was so dull, my friend Jonathan and I chatted full voice in the balcony about work and whatever during the first half of the movie, then left.

When the Trolley Theatres opened in the 1970s, I thought I had died and gone to heaven. Four theatres in one building and huge murals depicting some of Hollywood’s legends. The ushers dressed like Keystone Kops. “The Muppet Movie” and “Airplane” were a couple of the standouts from those days. One night, my friend Russ and I went to see “Coal Miner’s Daughter.” We were the only people in the theatre so we lied down in the aisles. The flirty concessionaires yelled down asking if we wanted popcorn or anything. 

The seventies were also my Centre Theatre era. It was a gigantic art deco beauty with a long hallway and a lobby that faced the corner of Broadway and State. It showed some of the greatest movies ever—”Star Wars,” “Alien” and “Animal House” which was my first R-rated movie. I somehow managed to get by Checkpoint Charlie without the proper ID. “Silver Streak” also played there. It was one of the rare times we ever saw a movie as a family. Mom and Frank howled as Gene Wilder and Richard Pryor delivered some of the funniest lines they’d ever heard.

Across the street from the Trolley Theatres was Trolley Corners. It had one big screen and two smaller ones. I remember going to their grand opening where they showed “the World’s Greatest Lover”. I sat on the very front row at the farthest seat to the left. The mammoth screen distorted Gene Wilder’s head like a fun house mirror. Trolley Corners was also the home of Swensen’s Ice Cream where I was a waiter. When work was slow, my manager would tell me to go next store and watch a movie. I think I saw the first part of Peter O’Toole’s “The Stuntman” a dozen times before getting called back in to serve banana splits.

The Regency was another one of Salt Lake’s big screens. It was a big white modern box of a theatre on Parley’s Way. Its big velvet curtain was blue. The Regency was as far from my home as you could get in the Salt Lake Valley. My cousins took me to see “Jaws” there in 1975. It really scared me to death. In 1980, I went there to see “The Blue Lagoon”—probably three times. I had a big crush on Christopher Atkins and felt rather seedy going to travel so far to see it so many times. I probably needed a trench coat like those other seedy men who drooled over Brooke Shields. “Fantasia” was also a treat shown on that big screen, too. Especially, when we were on ‘shrooms.

As I grew older, I developed an affinity for foreign, cult and independent cinema. The Blue Mouse was my foray into that world. It was next door to the Cosmic Aeroplane, so I got to look at art books and import albums before heading down stairs to the theatre. That’s where I saw “Harold and Maude”, “Babette’s Feast,” “The Bicycle Thief” and of course, “The Rocky Horror Picture Show.” We’d go to that show nearly every Saturday Night after Swensen’s had closed. We didn’t have time to shop for props so instead of throwing rice we stole barley from the restaurant’s stock room. Toilet paper, too.

When the Blue Mouse closed, the short-lived Cinema in Your Face took its place for a while. I only saw a couple of movies there, but one was a real standout. It was called “Love is a Dog from Hell.” The windows were plastered with copies of the Deseret News’ review calling it a vile, repulsive, disgusting and reprehensible movie—so I bought a ticket. Who would have thought that a film about alcoholism, acne and necrophilia could bring me to tears? Well it actually did.

My favorite haunts these days are The Broadway Centre and The Tower. I’ve been to more movies there that I could possibly count. One time at the Broadway, during Woody Allen’s “Sweet and Lowdown,” I sat with my feet up in front of me with a platter of nachos on my belly. Suddenly, I was awakened by a woman who whispered that my “snoring was awfully loud.” I skulked out of the auditorium and checked into a sleep clinic later that week. But that’s another story.

I could go on and on—“Raiders of the Lost Ark” at the Villa and “Risky Business” at the Cottonwood Mall. And drive-ins were another story all together. I guess movie theatres have always been my sanctuary. Dark cathedrals where on Sundays I can go to partake of the popcorn and Diet Coke and worship at the feet of my idols. Matinees are almost sacred to me. I’d ask you to join me for Sunday Service, but I confess, I kind of prefer to worship alone.