The Redford Theater

The Redford Theater is like something out of a book. From the outside it’s nothing special: older marquee, flashing lights around it, Plexiglas ticket-taker window, the whole deal. Even the lobby is sort of standard.

Until you notice the little things: a grand piano with someone plaything music from the film. Cabinets full of memorabilia. Tee-shirts and fifty-fifty raffle tickets. popcorn made with REAL butter, sweet and wet.

Then you enter the theater.

The screen is framed by, of all things, the front of a Japanese pagoda. The colors are faded a bit, but that just makes it look real. Four figures, two men two women, are painted in wearing traditional Japanese dress. The colors on two are vibrant, repainted within the last few years.

Then you look up.

The ceiling is a night sky. Stars twinkle. Clouds drift across it, fading and forming as real clouds are wont to do. People shuffle in, heading to the stage to take pictures.

There’s a pipe organ. And a player piano. And an organist.

You sit, listen to medleys of classic music as clouds drift over twinkling stars and butter drifts through the cool theater air. It is magic. It is every movie theater you ever read about in every book: that magic place where you get your inspiration to write, become an actor, become a director. Anything can happen.

Last night I saw The Wizard of Oz in this wonderful place. It has never been more magical.