The Crandell Theater on Main Street in Chatham, NY had a lot going for it even before its recent renovation. A cozy atmosphere and affordable prices for movies as well as for candy and popcorn. And most of all that immersive, old-fashioned bricks and mortar movie-going experience that only a huge, communal screen can deliver.
It’s probably journalistic malpractice to veer off into a tangent this early in a commentary. But like most of America these days I watch the majority of my movies on Netflix or one of the other streaming services. That’s not a good thing. I consider myself unworthy of the power to pause a movie.
I still haven’t completed The Substance starring Demi Moore and I started watching it weeks ago. I hate scary movies and this one is scary and revolting. So I watch it in small increments until I get too frightened or repulsed and switch to something that won’t prevent me from falling asleep at night. I did the same thing with Ryan Coogler’s vampire epic Sinners. Were I the director, I’d put a clause in my contract that anybody that wanted to watch my film had to do so in a single sitting. To do otherwise is like viewing a Rembrandt or a Picasso one quadrant at a time.
The Crandell was pleading for a makeover. Selecting a seat was always an adventure. Sometimes you’d lower yourself into one and keep descending, fearing, with some justification that the bottom was about to fall out and you’d find yourself alone in the basement.
And then there were the bathrooms. To describe them as uninviting doesn’t do them justice. The men’s room, with its moldy blue tiles, was creepier than any horror film that you were likely to see on the screen. Yet the place had its undeniable charms. Films might not arrive until weeks or months into their release but the delay was reflected in the 1980’s era prices. My main concern when the place closed for renovations a year ago was that the baby not be thrown out with the bathwater. Whatever the Crandell’s drawbacks there’s much to be said for a community movie house in a time when community is essential but ever harder to find.
Also, filing out at the end of a film in a small town is an entirely different experience from doing so in a major metropolitan city or a mall. Movies are magic. Beleaguered malls are anything but. If a movie is any good it ushers you into a separate reality. After it’s over you briefly hover in a liminal space. It takes a while to readjust to the real world, to get your bearings. That can pose a threat to your safety in a city like New York where you’re likely to encounter something scarier and more threatening than you experienced in the film as soon as you hit the street.
At the Crandell, on the other hand, as you depart the movie house at the conclusion of an evening screening the quiet street and fragrant night air take you by the hand and, like a loving parent, deposit you by your car and gently close the door behind you.
The new and improved Crandell was inaugurated with the 25th anniversary of FilmColumbia, Columbia County’s film festival that ended last Sunday. I was away for most of it but caught a Romanian satire on Saturday afternoon. I was less interested in the film, which had its moments, than the opportunity it presented to see the renovation and to sit in row N, seat 2. That’s “My seat”. Supporters could do their part to contribute to the movie palace’s refurbishment by purchasing one or more seats. That doesn't mean that you get to kick people out of the seat if they get there first.
I chose the aisle because it offered a beeline to the bathroom. It also came with a brass plaque that offered the opportunity for a brief sentiment of the purchaser’s choice. After much frustrating family deliberation I came up with “Have fun. Eat Candy.”
I was pleased by the comfort and texture of the seat. My only quibble was with the color. It’s a tasteful tan. The old seats, not that I wish for their return, were cherry red. In my opinion movie houses aren’t supposed to be tasteful. They’re supposed to be tastefully over the top. Bordello-light. Legendary movie houses were called palaces for a reason. They were larger than life.
The color scheme aside, the Crandell’s management has managed to retain the old theater’s charm — the historic marquee now electronic, the 1920’s iron filigree on the aisle seats. The blue-lighted clock. I always thought a clock in a movie house was a little strange. Isn’t the whole point to escape humdrum reality? But it’s useful to know approximately how much time remains in the show in order to pace yourself.
The lobby is new, bright and spacious. The candy stand, I’m happy to report, seems to have retained its affordable prices. And were you to doubt whether becoming a member of the Crandell is a sound financial decision, not that membership is required, the free member popcorn should erase any doubt.
Finally, the bathrooms. I’m loath to describe lavatories as scenic but these are. They’re subtly lighted with color-coded water, soap and hand drying nozzles. And there are, count ‘em, four bathrooms, so there’s less chance of a line forming. Nonetheless, I still stand by my choice to underwrite an aisle seat.
Ralph Gardner Junior is a journalist who divides his time between New York City and Columbia County. More of his work can be found in the Berkshire Eagle and on Substack.
The views expressed by commentators are solely those of the authors. They do not necessarily reflect the views of this station or its management.
