Something got me thinking about the River Oaks Theater in Houston the other day. It’s one of the last surviving of a generation of theater houses built in the 1940s and 50s. These were not the movie palaces just about every city built in the 1930s with names like Majestic and Palace. The River Oaks and its sister cinemas were neighborhood venues. Sure, they sported big screens and impressive sound systems—even balconies—but they typically had fewer than 1,000 seats. Being in an upscale part of Houston, the River Oaks sported Art Deco stylings and decor.
I didn’t really discover the River Oaks until the latter half of the 1970s. By then its schedule was replete with foreign films, independent movies and Hollywood classics. That’s where I saw The Third Man for the first time. I discovered Fellini at the River Oaks, including Fellini’s Satyricon. This film is so ground-breaking, I saw it at a University of Houston film festival in the late 70s and the three reels were shown in a different order than the first time I’d seen it. I wasn’t able to tell which of the two sequences was the intended one. Without the River Oaks, I would never have seen Jodorowksy’s El Topo. Nor would I have learned that Women in Love is not a film you want to see on a first date. And, finally, thanks to the River Oaks, I discovered Zardoz. I own a copy of this film. Admittedly, I have never known another human soul who found it entertaining. I guess people just can’t forgive Sean Connery for that loincloth.
I didn’t really discover the River Oaks until the latter half of the 1970s. By then its schedule was replete with foreign films, independent movies and Hollywood classics. That’s where I saw The Third Man for the first time. I discovered Fellini at the River Oaks, including Fellini’s Satyricon. This film is so ground-breaking, I saw it at a University of Houston film festival in the late 70s and the three reels were shown in a different order than the first time I’d seen it. I wasn’t able to tell which of the two sequences was the intended one. Without the River Oaks, I would never have seen Jodorowksy’s El Topo. Nor would I have learned that Women in Love is not a film you want to see on a first date. And, finally, thanks to the River Oaks, I discovered Zardoz. I own a copy of this film. Admittedly, I have never known another human soul who found it entertaining. I guess people just can’t forgive Sean Connery for that loincloth.
Courtesy Wikipedia Among the many pleasures of going to the River Oaks was that it was just like the local cinema I went to as a kid. The Santa Rosa had the same big screen and interior layout and some impressive murals along the walls. Parents thought nothing of dropping kids off to see a movie and then picking them up a couple hours later. A few bucks bought a ticket, popcorn and a soda. When I was ten years old I saw what was for me, at that time, one of the greatest films ever released, Robinson Crusoe on Mars. Eyes wide, munching popcorn and sucking down a cherry cola—this was long before Cherry Coke and just involved a squirt of cherry syrup into a fountain cola, much better than the canned concoction of today—I consumed this B-movie tale of survival, courage, and the victory of good over evil. More than anything else, it seemed like movies were finally capturing the pulp sci-fi I’d been reading since I learned how. Poul Anderson, Andre Norton, Frank Herbert, Isaac Asimov, and of course Heinlein—at last it seemed their space operas and fantasies would be rolled out to the silver screen.
Except it didn’t happen. Whatever else the late '60s were, they were not the years of epic science fiction cinema. Oh, sure, there were big-budget releases like 2001: A Space Odyssey and Planet of the Apes. I saw the film Marooned in that same Santa Rosa theater. None of these films featured heroes and heroines flying faster than light wielding blasters and laser pistols on exotic worlds. Most of the sci-fi film of the period seemed to verge on the horror genre or delve into some variant of existentialism. That’s not to say none of them were good science-fiction. They just weren’t the space operas I grew up reading.
Except it didn’t happen. Whatever else the late '60s were, they were not the years of epic science fiction cinema. Oh, sure, there were big-budget releases like 2001: A Space Odyssey and Planet of the Apes. I saw the film Marooned in that same Santa Rosa theater. None of these films featured heroes and heroines flying faster than light wielding blasters and laser pistols on exotic worlds. Most of the sci-fi film of the period seemed to verge on the horror genre or delve into some variant of existentialism. That’s not to say none of them were good science-fiction. They just weren’t the space operas I grew up reading.
George Lucas apparently felt the same way. I was 23 and in college when Star Wars was released. Flipping through a newspaper, I stumbled across an ad for the film. I won’t say I dropped everything and raced down to the theater to see it. I waited about a week and went on a weekday afternoon. Sitting in an almost empty cinema, I was so enthralled I stayed and watched it a second time—you could do that back in the seventies if there wasn’t much of a crowd. And I stayed because the film captured just about everything I’d been hoping for since Robinson Crusoe on Mars. Fleets of star cruisers firing energy beams, travel through hyperspace, a universe filled with intelligent life of all shapes and sizes: heck, Han Solo even called his sidearm a “blaster.” The only disappointment was that I wasn’t watching it in the Santa Rosa. The first multi-screen cinemas attached to malls had begun their encroachment into American culture; it was showing at the Gulfgate Cinema I & 2, which lacked the character of the Santa Rosa but had a larger selection of snacks. I added Milk Duds to my movie-viewing fare.
The early eighties became, for me, the best of times where movies were concerned. Alien and Star Wars produced sequels, and then came the stream of Star Trek movies, satisfying the sci-fi fan in me. Meanwhile, the River Oaks continued to scour the planet for eclectic indie films while intermixing classics--Casablanca, the Thin Man films—with Tennessee Williams theme nights, oddities like Plan 9 from Outer Space and The Terror of Tiny Town, and every Fellini film made.
The early eighties became, for me, the best of times where movies were concerned. Alien and Star Wars produced sequels, and then came the stream of Star Trek movies, satisfying the sci-fi fan in me. Meanwhile, the River Oaks continued to scour the planet for eclectic indie films while intermixing classics--Casablanca, the Thin Man films—with Tennessee Williams theme nights, oddities like Plan 9 from Outer Space and The Terror of Tiny Town, and every Fellini film made.
Nothing lasts forever, it seems. The Santa Rosa of my early years became an adult video and book store, then was torn down. The River Oaks converted its balcony to two smaller theaters in an effort to compete with multi-cinemas and went back to showing first runs. I moved on as well, to a career in another city and even time in other countries. Now streaming services make trips to the theater a rarer event, while cinema houses offer full meals, draft beers and decent wines to draw customers.
Still, you can occasionally find a venue like the River Oaks showing some of the old classics on a big screen, usually at midnight. It’s worth it to go once in awhile and remember times long past.
And don’t forget to pick up a pack of Milk Duds on the way to your seat.
David
Still, you can occasionally find a venue like the River Oaks showing some of the old classics on a big screen, usually at midnight. It’s worth it to go once in awhile and remember times long past.
And don’t forget to pick up a pack of Milk Duds on the way to your seat.
David
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