Night at the drive-in

Mike Pearson, Rocky Mountain News

Friday, June 15, 2007

The last picture show?

Not quite, but close.

I approach the Cinderella Twin Drive-In on the border of Sheridan and Englewood, knowing it is among the last of a vanishing breed.

It's been 40 years since my mother first dragged me to see a drive-in revival of Gone with the Wind when I was 8 years old. I don't care how mature I was for my age; somewhere between "As God is my witness, I will never go hungry again!" and "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn!" I fell asleep.

In high school, my friends and I went to the drive-in every weekend, not so much for the movies as to socialize. Plus, they played an onscreen bingo game at intermission.

Recently, for the first time in at least 20 years, I returned to the terra firma where the rubber meets the gravel. In an age of high-def TV and Surround Sound, the drive-in is an anachronism.

Nostalgic? Certainly. But not quite the trip down memory lane I envisioned:

7:15 p.m.

It's the start of the three-day Memorial Day weekend - one of the busiest of the year for the drive-in industry - and 90 minutes before showtime, cars already are lined 20 deep in three lanes. The theater has two screens, each showing a double feature, one headlined by Shrek the Third, the other by Pirates of the Caribbean 3. As the cars pay their fee ($9 for anyone over 12; $2 for kids 7-11), they split to the left or right, depending on their movie preference. We make our way to the side showing Pirates. The sun isn't anywhere near the horizon.

Jim Goble is a realist.

As president of Funtime Drive-in Theaters Inc., which manages the Cinderella Twin, and vice-president of the United Drive-in Theatre Owners Association, he knows that the end is near. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but soon. Drive-in theaters are becoming cultural dinosaurs.

"This one is under constant threat of being torn down, and people are in a panic about it," he says. "There's a developer from Texas who wants to build apartments here, and I think it's going to happen."

Funtime doesn't own the land on which the Cinderella sits. It has leased it from Platte Properties Ltd. since 1996, and the lease is renewed on a yearly basis. A light-rail stop across the street has increased the property's value.

"Ten years from now I don't think we'll be here," he says candidly.

In the meantime, he revels in the popularity of his drive-in at a time when the industry is under siege nationwide. On weekends the theater routinely sells out, which means cars begin lining up around 6:30 p.m. and the last car leaves the lot around 3 a.m.

"All night long people are coming, even at 1 a.m., just to see the last movie," he says.

Even foul weather isn't a certain deterrent.

"We run the shows in the rain. It (affects) our business sometimes, but the funny thing is, if you've got decent movies, a large crowd will show up even if the weather is moderately threatening."

As in the 1950s - the heyday of the drive-in - today's crowd is largely families, not teenagers looking for a place to neck.

"There's certainly value in seeing two or three movies for the price of one, but the other aspect is that some people just love the openness and freedom of the drive-in as opposed to the confines of an indoor theater," says Goble.

Perhaps that makes them free-range moviegoers.

8 p.m.

The lot we're in is only a third full, yet it's abuzz with activity. The first thing you notice is the number of children racing between parked cars or tossing a football in empty stretches. Their parents, meanwhile, are getting the seating arrangements finalized. There are lawn chairs to be positioned, lift gates to be tied down (can't block the view of those behind you), coolers to be retrieved with the night's provisions. The nearby snack bar is already under siege. I and my passenger - my 16-year-old godson, Corey - ponder how much stamina it will take to get a hot dog.

There is an exact date for the beginning: June 6, 1933. That's the day Richard Hollingshead opened the first drive-in in Camden, N.J.

Admission was 25 cents a person and per car back then, and sound was provided by three speakers affixed to the screen. Front-wheel ramps for cars in the back rows allowed for better visibility.

Still, it took a few years for the drive-in idea to catch on. By 1939 there were only 18 drive-ins in 11 states. Twenty years later there were more than 4,000.

Jim Goble and others credit that explosion to the post-World War II baby boom, which continued to treat the industry well through the '80s. Today you'll find the most drive-in theaters in New York state (31) and you won't find any in Alaska and Hawaii.

To maintain those crowds over the decades, drive-ins offered everything from playgrounds and pony rides to miniature golf and even swimming pools.

And one more thing they added to the pop-culture landscape: commercials featuring dancing food.

8:10 p.m.

The teenage girl at the snack bar couldn't be more pleasant, yet it takes two attempts to convince her I am simply asking her for a soda and not for something involving quantum physics. Around us, theatergoers purchase a midway menu of food: popcorn, corn dogs, nachos and snow cones, then head back to their cars with kids trailing.

We head back, too, and tune our radio to the frequency that receives the movie soundtrack. Old-fashioned metal window speakers hang on poles next to us, but hardly anyone is using them. The sorrel-colored sky grows darker. Outside the main gate, cars are still lined up back to the road.

Ryan Sykes, 29, and Nina Cummings, 27, typify the modern drive-in patron. The Thornton residents have come to the Cinderella this Friday night with their six kids, ages 4-12 (each has three). There is a seventh on the way.

"I've been coming here since I was 12 years old," says Sykes, eyeing his Brady Bunch brood. He sits in the back of an SUV facing the screen.

"It's a lot better than the movie theater because (the kids) don't have to sit in one spot and it's a lot more economical," says Cummings. "It keeps them entertained."

In the summer, the couple takes the kids to the drive-in twice a month, either the Cinderella or 88 Drive-in Theater in Commerce City. Not only does it give the kids a chance to roam, they say it also evokes a sense of community.

"Sometimes you talk to the people next to you and you get to know them," Cummings explains. "You find kids playing together. You don't get that with indoor theaters. At the drive-in you interact with one another."

Surrounded by their kids, the couple says they hope drive-ins will still be around when their seventh child is old enough to experience them.

8:47 p.m.

The previews last longer than the gestation period of a small mammal. From the projection booth mounted atop the snack bar behind us, images stream toward the screen. The occasional employee in black shirt or golf cart goes up and down each row, alert to mischief. Then Pirates is on the screen and, save for the drone of traffic on Hampden Avenue, you can hear a pin drop.

9:15 p.m.

My godson asks me about the first time I went to a drive-in, and I tell him about my mother's bizarre decision to take three preteen boys to see a revival of Gone with the Wind. I also tell him that I loved seeing Don Knotts comedies like The Reluctant Astronaut and The Incredible Mr. Limpet and, later, horror yarns like The Last House on the Left and The Hills Have Eyes. Then I tell him about something he's not likely to see in his lifetime: When I was in high school there was a triple-X drive-in just outside my hometown. It had extra-high fences, which meant you could dislocate your neck trying to see something while driving by. Corey looks like he'd give anything for a time machine and a stepladder.

11:30 p.m.

Only 15 minutes left in the movie (will it ever end?), and still cars arrive. They know that this first film will be repeated after the second movie. The headlights of the new arrivals pierce the darkness like halogen screams, then are extinguished as they find a parking spot. More lawn chairs. More coolers. More families. I wonder if they will be as confused by this movie as I am.

Midnight

We leave during the closing credits for Pirates, and as we depart, another car is let in to take our place. Corey wants to stay for the second feature, Blades of Glory. I do not. It is my car so it is a short-lived argument. One day he will tell his grandchildren about the days of the drive-in, and they will be shocked, much as kids are today when they try to wrap their mind around the concept of a time before cable TV. How ever did we live?

The radio is still playing movie music as we head toward the highway. I turn it to a news channel and re-enter the real world.

Park It

• Richard M. Hollingshead opened the first drive-in in Camden, N.J., in 1933, with an investment of $30,000. He holds U.S. patent number 1,909,537.

• In 1958 there were 4,034 drive-in theaters in the United States at the height of the craze. Today there are only 402, nine of them in Colorado.

• Two drive-ins hold the record for the smallest capacity: The Harmony Drive-In of Harmony, Pa., and the Highway Drive-In of Bamberg, S.C. Each could hold no more than 50 cars.

• The record for the largest drive-in is held by the All-Weather Drive-In in Copiague, N.Y. It had parking space for 2,500 cars, and an indoor-seat viewing area that could accommodate 1,200 people.

• Asbury Park, N.J., was home to a drive-in theater that had a runway that allowed small planes to fly in and watch movies. There was room for 500 cars and 25 planes.

pearsonm@RockyMountainNews.com or 303-954-2592