THE STORY – Filmmaker Rustin Thompson journeys into the American West on a search for traces of what was once a center of small-town life: the movie theater. On the trip, he finds long abandoned and forgotten cinemas; movie houses that have fallen into disrepair; theaters recently closed, theaters struggling to hold on, and theaters that – thanks to their thoughtful caretakers – are not only surviving but thriving.
THE CAST – N/A
THE TEAM – Rustin Thompson (Director/Writer)
THE RUNNING TIME – 78 Minutes
Chances are, if you’re reading this review on this specific website, you already appreciate the experience of leaving the house and going to a movie theater. And for those of us lucky to live near an old-fashioned, independent theater, there’s no comparison to the labor of love that is their continued existence. This is thanks in large part to the owners, many of whom are keeping the lights on simply out of passion for the movies and fondness for their audiences. In a time when more and more third spaces are disappearing (and given the rise in work-from-home models, many of us don’t even have a second space) and the once-exclusively communal act of moviegoing becomes more and more individualized thanks to streaming, these movie houses are not only a great way to experience popular art, but they also serve as something closer to community centers. And as even the hyper-corporate multiplexes struggle to retain customers, such bastions of independence are more precious than ever. Rustin Thompson clearly knows this, as his documentary “The Last Picture Shows” is absolutely bursting with unfathomable love in every frame. That unreserved affection comes from both from the filmmaker in the way he captures the endangered species that is the small-town indie theater and from the theater owners, who are doing it for the love of the art form.
As one of the opening texts explains, Thompson traveled “10 states” and “10,825 miles” to visit “123 theaters” across the expanse of the American West. Far from any bustling metropolis, he made it a mission to document theaters in towns across Montana, Oregon, Utah, and other states with total populations that are less than some major cities. In his odyssey, he set out to photograph indie theaters both still in operation and closed – some of which have been converted to other businesses, and some of which sit abandoned, with their graffiti-covered fronts and outdated marquees standing as visual representations of changing times.
But, perhaps surprisingly, despite the bizarrely inviting appeal of a once-busy movie palace left to rot, Thompson is far more concerned with exploring the continued operation of theaters that are still open. There, he encounters several common patterns and talking points: nearly all of the owners have anxiety about the future of their theaters, nearly all of them have poured years of passion (and in many cases, their own money) into the business, and hilariously, many of them were visited by Thompson when they were playing the flop superhero sequel “Shazam! Fury of the Gods.” One shared grievance amongst the theater owners, regardless of where they are or how popular their theaters are, is that the major film studios have an outdated business distribution model. As they explain, the studios often require that their films be run for three to four weeks as part of their rental agreement, which forces the theaters into a Catch-22: they feel obliged to play the big budget, tentpole films in order to attract as broad of an audience as possible, but with many of the theaters only having one screen, that almost guarantees that the screenings later in a film’s run will be practically empty, having quickly burned through their potential audience in these small towns. It’s a frustrating occurrence, and there’s shared agreement amongst the various managers that they wish that the studios would allow for different stipulations based on market size. The ill-fated “Shazam!” sequel thus serves as something of an unintentional repeating symbol, with Zachary Levi feeling like a silent recurring villain popping up to terrorize the well-meaning small business owners.
But it’s not all bad news. Ultimately, “The Last Picture Shows” is a hopeful film. Just as indie bookstores, physical media, and other supposed aspects of a time past have experienced something of a renaissance in recent years, this documentary shows that, based on featured interviews, not only are audiences hungry for a curated film experience that can’t be found in a multiplex (much less on a streaming platform), but in some areas, brand new theaters have found a steady customer base. Not only that, but theaters are coming up with additional sources of revenue and putting new business practices into place, just as theaters evolved in the past to adapt to the Great Depression, the rise of television, and the collapse of the studio system in the late 60s. In the era of calculated algorithms and artificially generated eyesores, people clearly crave the more personalized artistic experience that these indie theaters provide.
“The Last Picture Shows” features more than just interviews. Thompson’s camera captures the architectural wonder of movie houses built in the first half of the 20th century with an eye for beauty that was once reserved for close-ups of movie stars. As one of the interview subjects puts it, in a time long gone when most businesses would close for the evening, the glowing neon marquees of the movie houses would serve as a literal beacon to folks walking their downtown neighborhoods. Thompson shoots these theaters in a way that conjures the special feeling that film lovers will recognize of being pulled to the theater by the building itself. He also often pairs these structures with gorgeous, evocative shots of the expansive natural landscapes that surround the towns. The many clips from Peter Bogdanovich’s masterpiece “The Last Picture Show” make for an appropriate point of comparison – just as that film’s black and white photography immediately evokes a nostalgic feeling, even for viewers who weren’t alive in the time of the film’s setting, so too does Thompson’s film from the way his camera captures the many beloved theaters.
“The Last Picture Shows” is a bittersweet dream of a movie, perfectly made for cinephiles. It’s filled with small Easter eggs and notable details that film fans will love; there’s a strange, sad joy felt whenever a shuttered theater’s marquee is shown and its closure date can be estimated based on the film title on the marquee or posters left on display. Thompson’s gorgeous documentary shines a spotlight on people who spend most of their time in the dark, alone in the projection booth, or typically only lit by the glow of the popcorn machine. And while it obviously has a melancholy energy, the irrepressible affection that Thompson highlights serves as evidence that, despite changing trends and tastes, movie theaters will never go away.
