During my three semesters at Wesleyan thus far, I have visited Metro Movies 32 times. At $11 a ticket, that comes out to $352. Considering concessions, usually rounding out to about the same price as the ticket (only purchased around every fourth visit – I often arrive too late for my mozzarella sticks), we are now at $440. Factoring in the famous Discount Tuesdays™ and friends graciously spotting me, I am comfortable rounding that down to an even $400.
Sometime at the start of the Fall ’25 semester, I started a social media series where I reviewed and ranked each auditorium of the theater, pointing out their minute differences, commenting on what makes them thrive and what makes them fall short. I’m aware of the ridiculousness of this endeavor; aside from Theater 1 (which was significantly bigger than all the rest), the remaining 11 were virtually identical. All had those hefty red leather chairs, all had that galaxy-patterned carpet. But after spending enough time in each of them, and putting on my critic hat, their distinctions felt obvious. Theater 12 had a distracting light bulb by the emergency exit, but made up for this shortcoming with its proximity to the bathroom (ensuring that I didn’t miss more than a second of Richard Linklater’s “Blue Moon”). Theater 6, while frustratingly dim, had a more equitable seating arrangement than the other theaters, with only one row on the ground while the remaining rows ascend upwards, instead of the usual three or four, which made the elevated seats feel extremely far away. Posted to TikTok, these videos garnered a whopping 235 likes (I don’t do it for the fame).
Why would I do this? Why would I spend so much money and time in that theater, spend so much time out of that theater thinking about being in that theater, and post those thoughts to the public? Is it the relative cheapness of the tickets? That can’t be right; I’m able to go to my local AMC for free since I am an AMC Stubs A-Lister. Is it the proximity to campus? Maybe… but 32 times? For proximity? How would that explain how Metro Movies has continually remained in my brain long after I leave the property?
Maybe it’s the people. I can say without reservation that the staff at Metro Movies 12 were the kindest people I’ve met in any of the countless theaters I’ve been to throughout the country. Late for a showing of “Dead of Winter” (a random action-thriller starring Emma Thompson), an employee offered to hand-deliver my hot dog to my seat so I wouldn’t miss a frame. After the fire alarm went off during a showing of “Mickey 17,” they offered, not just to me and my friends, but everyone who braved the cold free concessions. Not to mention the countless conversations about movies, the half a dozen posters I took home, and the employee/Joker cosplayer who took a break from his shift to join us in “Joker: Folie à Deux.” Something about these small private theaters, unbridled by country-wide policies and convoluted rewards programs, breeds a feeling of community and kindness impossible to find at an AMC or Regal.
Like many losses, the closing of Metro Movies 12 was sudden and unexplained. There were no telltale signs during my last visit to the theater (“Zootopia 2”), nothing I could point to that indicated any sort of sorrow emanating from that place. It felt like any other visit, and to the employees, I bet it felt like any other shift. When the news hit over winter break, I felt as if something I thought I could count on for the rest of my time here was violently and nonsensically ripped away. All I had was an Instagram post, simply stating their departure from my life with no reasoning, without a hint of some kind of closure. A one-sentence epitaph to commemorate 27 years of history. And I wondered: If I had gone just one more time, talked to one more employee, and sat in my final red leather seat, would I be free from this dismay? I understand that I can’t have that. But what a dream it would be.
Gryphon Magnus can be reached at gmagnus@wesleyan.edu.
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