Growing up in Philipsburg, we were movie theater rich — a reality I didn’t appreciate until I moved away for college.
As a kid, going to the movies in my hometown meant walking down to the Rowland — a majestic theatre with 1,000 seats — paying a nominal fee (sometimes just a donated can of food) for a ticket, and choosing one of two sets of stairs by which to race my brothers up to the balcony.
It’s been a while since I was a child watching the original, animated “Lion King” in the Rowland for the first time. And I’m delighted to say that as far as the experience goes, not much has changed — other than Disney’s mastery of CGI — in the intervening 25 years.
I went to see the new Lion King on Sunday evening with my mother. I had planned to buy her $6 ticket (half what you’d pay at a modern theatre) for her — a little payback for taking us kids to see the original Lion King three times in 1994. Alas, the Rowland is still cash only (sorry, mom), which makes sense and adds to the theatre’s bygone charm.
We bought (and by “we” I mean mom, with the cash) our obligatory movie meal of popcorn and Raisinets and took our seats in the balcony — always in the balcony. The only time I ever remember not sitting in the balcony at the Rowland was the day after Christmas in 2003.
Philipsburg had been buried in a blanket of heavy snow. The town was still and silent when all in the family bundled and booted ourselves ‘til we resembled a dogsled team and ventured out into the blizzard. We trudged through the snowy streets, the flurries still falling gently from bright, nighttime clouds, and settled in at the familiar old theatre for a showing of “Master and Commander.” We had the whole place to ourselves, but the balcony wasn’t opened because of the low turnout.
This last time, I was glad none of my brothers were present, or we would have had to race up to the balcony, where it was hot. Very hot. My mother and I sweltered the entire time, and a father nearby fanned his little daughter with an empty Milk Duds box.
We enjoyed the movie nonetheless. If anything, the sultry air made the scenes of scorching African plains and steamy jungles all the more authentic. It reminded me of the time we went to see the second “Lord of the Rings” at the Rowland. Sitting in the balcony — of course — I noted how realistic a forest scene seemed with the life-like bat flying by, only to realize in the next scene (an indoor one), the “life-like” bat was, indeed, full of life, and fluttering about near the high ceiling and the top row of the balcony.
Sure, the Rowland’s AC might not work — at least not very well — and yes, the seats squeak. But where else can you sit with your sweetie in a quaint little loveseat? And yes, the theatre shows “only one” movie — not that you can watch more than one at a time, anyway — but if it’s bad, you can always indulge your senses by inspecting the theatre’s ornate wallpaper and gold detailing, or by studying the marble Ionic columns, the graceful, fringed curtains and the art deco murals. Even the signs denoting which bathroom belongs to which sex are a treat. Yes, give me a rich, crimson carpet in a palatial foyer over the soulless labyrinths and frigid, deafening incubators that are modern theatres any day.
The Rowland is a timeless place where I’ve made many memories I cherish. The faster the world moves and the more chaos our ever-changing technology creates, the more grateful I become that some things stay the same.
Here’s hoping the Rowland — and the Ritz and the Super 322 and all the old treasures — remain to become reliable friends for generations to come.
Teresa Mull is a freelance writer who lives in Philipsburg.
