How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Castro Theatre Again

F

irst things first: Priscilla, Queen of the Desert at the Castro Theatre is not, strictly speaking, a “film event.”

It’s a film, sure. But it’s also the Castro Theatre’s long-awaited reopening after a two-year closure. It’s a celebration. It’s not Stalker or Ikiru or In the Mood for Love; it’s Priscilla — a communion, a camp fest, and a party.

But, since it is the first movie shown at the Castro, once my favorite movie theater in the entire world, I am duty-bound to go.

See, I have been talking my head off about the Castro to anyone who will listen for four years, ever since Another Planet Entertainment, the live music promoter, announced plans to convert it into a multi-use venue. I’ve dutifully reported on the story publicly, and, as my coworkers will attest, ranted pessimistically about it in private. I have been “that guy.”

Like thousands of others, I’d seen movies there for 25 years. I loved the Castro. It was reasonable to be worried. Another Planet does not operate any other venue that shows film — how could they uphold their requirement to do so, for 75 days out of each calendar year? How could they destroy a beloved institution’s original floor seating to become yet another music venue, with a tacked-on film element, in a city with no other movie palaces?

Plus, I never minded the run-down look of the Castro. While it was hard to argue with restoring the ceiling, upgrading the sound, fixing the roof and adding ADA compliance, was it a fair trade-off for losing around-the-clock film programming?

The whole thing felt like someone walking into Tommy’s Joynt and saying, “Nice place, good potential. But let’s take all this garbage off the walls and repaint it. And say, why don’t we put in a matcha bar?”

S

o while touring the theater the day before it opened, I was mainly fixated on how it would show movies. Another Planet needed to appease three contingents with this project: the LGBTQ community, the Castro District community, and the film community. Their bookings so far lean very queer, a good thing, and they’ll easily bring people, and money, to the neighborhood.

Film, though, was still an open question.

I was glad to learn that the projection booth retains both a 35mm and 70mm film projector, along with a new digital 4K BARCO projector. The screen is 36 feet by 25 feet, similar in size to the old one. There’s a new sound system, and in classic movie-palace style, the speakers sit behind the screen.

There’s a bar at the back of the auditorium for concerts, but it’s fully removable and will be absent for film screenings. Film booking is done in-house, and festivals like Berlin & Beyond, the SF Silent Film Festival and Frameline are all returning.

The seats are ugly. There’s no other way to say it. The point of so much debate, anger and town halls, the new seats aren’t technically folding chairs, but to me they still look like seats at a school assembly, with toothpick legs. They’re on six-inch risers with improved sight lines, and they’re padded and have cup holders, but if AMC installed these seats at their theaters they’d go out of business immediately.

Sitting in the seats with Mary Conde, the senior vice president of Another Planet, I ask: you must know that some people will complain about this, right?

She nods. “We are prepared for that,” Conde says.

T

he cops are milling around on Castro Street, trying to keep the teeming crowd on the sidewalk. It’s the Castro’s grand re-opening Friday night, and politicians, drag queens, a marching band, a guy with a sign reading “THIS SUCKS,” security workers, lookie-loos, local merchants and movie fans have all congealed in front of the theater.

“Who’s Sam Smith?” one of the cops asks, looking up at the marquee. “Some singer,” another replies, disinterestedly. “Here for two weeks, they say.”

Ruby Day from Beach Blanket Babylon sings “our national anthem,” “San Francisco.” Castro Supervisor Rafael Mandelman says “Go queers in construction!” Mayor Lurie does his we’re-so-back Lurie thing. The ribbon gets cut, the marching band strikes up, and we’re off.

People enter the theater and immediately look upward at the stunning new ceiling. One remembers “the brown expanse that it used to be.” The new 2,000-pound digital organ emerges from the stage, and a standing ovation ensues for David Hegarty, the Castro’s organist since 1978. He’s canonized as “St. Mellifluous” by the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence. There’s a sing-along to “Mamma Mia” with 14 drag queens on stage.

Finally, after 42 minutes of pre-show, the movie starts.

This is my alright-show-me-what-you-got moment. And, after the masking is adjusted, I have to say: the movie looks good. The film print is clean, the focus is sharp and the presentation is bright, with a strong bulb in the projector. I also find that I don’t mind my seat at all, or how it feels. I am back at the Castro, this cathedral for film, watching a movie again. Could it be that all my worries were unfounded? What’s happening here?!

I will forever miss the old interior. But I think: I can live with this.

Seared into my memory is the first movie I ever saw at the Castro: Grey Gardens, which amazed me not only for its story but for the audience interaction. During Priscilla, people cheer for Terence Stamp, who recently died, in the opening credits. They recite lines like “a cock in a frock on a rock” back to the screen. They laugh at the jokes, sing along to the drag numbers, and get silent for the emotional scenes.

And me? For 104 minutes, I get lost in the film, forget about the bullshit, and realize that when the lights go down, it’s still the same Castro magic.