Last Night at the Alamo

It is 6:00AM and I just got home from the Alamo Drafthouse which officially closed its doors tonight after delivering a decade of blissful cinematic experiences to Austin audiences. It's hard to sum up in words what that space meant to me and the thousands of Drafthouse regulars who breached its doors and congregated before its perpetually illuminated screen. To many it was a church whose hallowed grounds were sanctified by the soft glow of projection perfection. Its people were devout. Its message universal. Its films were timeless.

I was fortunate enough to be included in the last audience the downtown Alamo Drafthouse would ever know. The finale event was called THE LAST NIGHT AT THE ALAMO and it featured a trio of films that perfectly capped an era of film intimacy that will probably never be duplicated in my lifetime.

First on the bill was A BIG NIGHT (1996) which included a seven course gourmet feast cooked up to match the entrees featured in the film. Some of the culinary treats served were a trio of seafood, truffle, and spinach risottos, timpano, salmon with roasted tomatoes, roast suckling pig, poussin with grape sauce, and for desert a meringue cookie with mascarpone. Each course featured a wine pairing while the meal was capped off with champagne and a small glass of grappa. The food was to perfection, the film was extraordinary, and the company was heartening.

During its ten years of existence, Alamo Drafthouse owner Tim League often expressed his disdain for neighboring nightclub Cuba Libre whose nightly bass-thumping music would often leak through the Drafhouse walls and soil the pristine air inside. The Alamo's trophy policy of "Don't Talk Or We'll Take Your Ass Out" was powerless against this loud and obscenely obnoxious bully.

To demonstrate his affection for Cuba Libre Tim shipped in 50,000 watts worth of godzilla-sized subwoofers for the penultimate film, EARTHQUAKE (1975). During the three earthquake destruction scenes in the film, the subwoofers emitted a low frequency oscillation that shook the entire building to its foundation. Before the show began the Alamo staff handed out regulation commemorative hard hats to each patron for protection from potential falling ceiling tiles. None fell but two of the four fasteners did fail one tile as it hung from the ceiling over Harry Knowles' head.

The final film of the evening was an unparalleled classic from the vaults of Something Weird Wednesday. I had actually seen NIGHT WARNING (1983) twice before and was itching to see it for the third time. It very well could be my favorite Weird Wednesday movie ever and to sweeten the deal, star Susan Tyrrell was in attendance! The screening was followed by an unforgettable Q&A with Susan that will remain as the stuff of legend in the annals of Alamo lore.

When all three screenings were concluded it was time to go. But not before we used our complimentary wrenches to remove our seats from its foundation. After a couple sweaty hours of hard work the seats were gone. Only a few stray legless cushions remained. The same audience who filled the seats of the theater lovingly partook in destroying it. It was bittersweet.

It was an emotional evening filled with celebratory toasts, fond farewells, tokens of appreciation, applause, and even the occasional teardrop.

Even though the downtown location is moving to the new RITZ theater on Sixth Street, Austin just won't be the same without the original theater at 409 Colorado Street. I'm sure I'll be frequenting the new location but I'll always "Remember the Alamo".

The doors are closed. The sign is gone. It was an irreproachable evening worthy of the Alamo tradition.

Thanks for the memories which will forever flicker in my mind. See you at the Ritz!