See you at the movies
The Colonial Theatre in Belfast was my teenage home for understanding the world through cinema
Nobody remembers anyone’s phone number anymore. If you asked me to reel off the number of any of my closest friends and relatives without looking them up, I could not do it. Our phones aren’t phones, and we really shouldn’t call them that anymore. They’re computers in our pockets, and audio calls are, at best, the seventh most common thing we do with them.
There are a few phone numbers that remain permanently seared into my brain, however. When I’ve finally lost my marbles, I will still remember those numbers and other vitally important things, like the names of all the Valar from “The Silmarillion” and the music from the Ladysmith Black Mambazo Lifesavers commercials. My husband’s phone number, of course, and my parents’ landline. My first personal phone extension at the Bangor Daily News. And the movie listings line for the Colonial Theatre in Belfast.
207-338-1930. Between the ages of 12 and 18 I called the Colonial almost every week to hear which new movies would be hitting the screens - minus the 207, that is, since in Maine back then you didn’t need to dial the full nine digits. The recorded voice of former co-owner Therese would read off all the showings, and I would sit, impatiently, until something that piqued my interest came through. As soon as it did, the plan was set: Saturday at the Colonial.
About half the time, my Mom would drop me and at least one friend off in downtown Belfast about an hour before the show, with money for tickets and popcorn - and maybe pizza at Alexia’s - in our pockets. The rest of the time, it was usually me and my Mom, a fellow film buff. It was hard to interest my fellow teenagers in seeing a movie like “Amistad” - but my Mom would go see “Sense & Sensibility” with me not once, but twice. We both agreed that Emma Thompson and Kate Winslet could do no wrong.
Despite being a burgeoning snob with a mature-for-her-age taste in cinema - my actual godfather Tommy showed me “The Godfather” when I was nine years old - I was not picky when it came to what I went to see. “Michael,” the 1996 movie starring John Travolta as an angel? Saw it. “Joe’s Apartment,” about singing and dancing New York City cockroaches? Saw it. “Batman Forever,” a jarring tonal shift from the magnificent Tim Burton Batman movies? Saw it twice. Bought the soundtrack. Side note: that’s an amazing soundtrack. Not a bad song on it. My first introduction to Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. Yes, even “Kiss From a Rose.”
The Colonial and I go way back. I recall going on a field trip there to see “The Land Before Time” with the entire first grade class at Searsport Elementary - which, as far as I can remember, was my first time actually going to the movies. A decade or so later, my friend April and I saw all the re-releases of the original Star Wars trilogy, and then went to the big block party for the midnight screening of “The Phantom Menace,” toting along our lightsabers. The movie was… fine. The preceding five hours hanging out with all the other ticket-holders, however? Great. I went to bed at 3 a.m. and skipped school the next day.
Being Kate Winslet fangirls, my Mom and I saw everything she was in - including “Quills,” which we went into thinking it would be a serious period drama, which at the time was our whole thing. It’s a serious period drama, sure, but it’s also a movie about sex - graphic, lavishly depicted sex. That’s a fun one to watch while seated next to your mother. I think I blacked out.
It was also the golden age of teen horror movies, and my friends and I saw every one of them. “Scream.” “Scream 2.” “Urban Legend.” “The Faculty.” “I Know What You Did Last Summer.” “I Still Know What You Did Last Summer.” None of these films are actually that scary. They’re meant to be seen in a dark room with your sweaty, awkward, hormone-addled teenage friends.
“The Matrix.” “Twister.” “Armageddon.” “Independence Day.” “Air Force One.” “Blade.” Saw them all. Piled into the theater, stoned out of our gourds, ready to laugh our heads off at “South Park: Bigger, Longer and Uncut.” Went to see “Spice World” twice, a movie I still hold is profoundly underrated. Saw “American Pie” once, a movie I still hold is profoundly overrated.
More importantly, the Colonial was where I learned to be a real film fan. “Magnolia” introduced me to Paul Thomas Anderson - which turned me onto filmmakers like Robert Altman and John Cassavetes, thanks to the plentiful film messageboards of the early internet. “Being John Malkovich” and “12 Monkeys” made me feel like being weird and off-kilter was OK. Non-linear plots? Puppets? A matryoshka doll of identities? How you tell the story is as important as what the story is. Technically, as teenagers we weren’t allowed to see R-rated films without a parent, but nobody at the Colonial box office seemed to give much of a shit if we saw “Fight Club” or “Eyes Wide Shut” at age 17. I consider that a public service. I remain grateful to them for looking the other way.
And while this might sound like a very niche and hyper-specific-to-Maine type of name-dropping, I’ve got a personal connection to the Colonial as well. Hawthorne, the fiberglass elephant that sits on the roof? And his little sidekick, Baby Hawthorne, who hangs out in the Dreamland theater lobby? Those came from Perry’s Nut House, the beloved Belfast roadside attraction that my grandfather, Jay Treat, owned for more than 30 years. Before he died in 2009, he was glad to see them find a new home at the theater.
There aren’t typically a lot of entry points to culture for kids growing up in small towns. There aren’t a lot of places where you can feel like you belong, even if you’re there all by yourself. Movie theaters - from scrappy indies like the Colonial to your local multiplex - are one of the few places where such experiences are permitted and are open to everybody. Anybody can buy a ticket and take the ride. Far be it from me to quote a certain Australian actress in a widely-parodied commercial, but it’s true: <insert emotion here> feels good in a place like this.
Hollywood media loves to go on about how movie-going audiences are shrinking and big studios can’t make money on anything, but I tend to think that’s because they keep pushing out repetitive garbage that mostly appeals to young children. Films like “Backrooms,” “Obsession,” “Sinners” and “Project Hail Mary” are proof that original movies can be well-made and thought-provoking and can make lots of money - wow, what a novel concept! It’s almost like people want to see good movies.
Here in Maine, theaters like the Colonial, Black Bear, the Maine Film Center, the Strand, the Lincoln, the Alamo, the Criterion, the Milbridge, Reel Pizza and plenty of others remain bastions of moviedom in small towns across the state. You can go to the movies for the latest mindless sequel, sure, but for anybody out there hungering for more connection and for more in general - more viewpoints, more imagination, more diversity, more experimentation, more ideas to chew on - there’s a whole world out there. And I can still call 207-338-1930 to find it.