The Galli-Curci was the only movie house in my rural upstate town that was open during my childhood. It was just down the street from our first house, and I snuck into the theatre one day when I was three or four years old; even then I knew, as did – clearly – the universe, that I was meant to be addicted to movies. It was a Perry Mason film, or at least featured that guy, whatshisname, Raymond Burr, and there was a car crash over a steep hill after a chase with guns, and people were in the car so they died, they died!! It seemed very real. This along with the menacing music, scared me right out of the theatre and back home, where Mrs. Murphy wasn’t even aware I’d been and gone. My little sister was ‘her baby’; mom had gone back to work, mornings only, and I was – happily – on my own.
Amelita Galli-Curci was a well-known opera singer during the early part of the twentieth century; she had an estate near our village from 1922 until 1937. She performed on opening night of the theatre as a favor, which was in 1922 or ’23, once it was determined that it would be named in her honor. It still stands but has been dormant for many years. There was a plan by a gay couple to revive it, a plan that was stymied by the idiot who converted the very nice house next to ours (our former home) into a gun shop sometime, I believe, in the 1980s. Such an ugly decade. He may have been motivated by homophobia; I’m not sure, but I sure wouldn’t be surprised. After litigation for a handful of years, the couple moved on, and the building has sat there, pretty much abandoned, ever since. The gun shop guy? He’s still in business, and was – might still be – on the village board. A village board member stops the re-development of a main street attraction. Small town living! Did I mention he’s a Republican? I know, I didn’t need to say it but…
It was in the Galli-Curci that I had my second real kiss (ala francais, mais bien sûr), and a few more besides, watching Zefferelli’s Romeo and Juliet (sort of, I was mostly snogging). It was there I saw MASH after a ‘Battle Royale’ with my mother because she considered it to be too risqué, too adult for me at twelve or thirteen. Thank you, Aunt Carc, for letting your kids go see it, so that I could too. It was there I sat with a young man (who shall remain nameless) with whom I was not on a date, until I realized that, ugh, he thought so; concerns about how the hell to get out of there without hurting his feelings or getting further stuck in the muddiness of co-ed relations ruined whatever the film was, which I cannot for the life of me recall. How many times did I date or even kiss men I didn’t want to date or kiss because I didn’t want to hurt their fragile feelings? Not a lot but still, too many times. But not much longer after this muddy moment; I fully stopped during my junior year in college, thank gawdess, except for that one massive, huge, stupid AF mistake I made (pity fuck) and have written about here previously. Sigh.
My dad took my brother and I to the Galli-Curci during Halloween week in 1970 or ’71. He had a partner in his business, and after many years of working seven days a week, he also had a few regular nights off; this made it a special treat. The theatre scheduled a 5 horror film marathon to give patrons an entire night of scariness, and while the first two films (The Raven and The Fall of the House of Usher) weren’t too awful, the third – Premature Burial – scared me crapless, giving me nightmares for years afterwards. I remember a moment in the film when the entire audience jumped in their seats, including me; out of an abundance of caution re: tonight’s dreams, I won’t go into detail, because why risk stirring things up?
My brother was a projectionist there for three or four years, maybe more, and once, as a favor, he cut me a frame of Gone With The Wind, a tiny piece of my idol Clark Gable, laughing in the study after Miss Scarlett has tossed a vase at his handsome head. Sigh! I still have it. I’m not sure where it is, exactly, in part because I love coming across it unexpectedly, triggering fan bliss and tickling my teenaged self pink. It’s in an envelope that is old school, covered with white, raised dots, see through but not.
The Galli-Curci also showed porn movies at midnight during hunting season for several years, which was determined to be okay regarding my brother being the projectionist so late (weekends only!) and so – steamy!! I remember casually eavesdropping on the parental discussion about it, in the kitchen, was it appropriate, wasn’t it; my brother was given the go-ahead, getting once more the respect and dignity in life we’re all owed but often don’t receive. His judgement, his character, his temperament and future? Those were already well-establish in the gleaming marbled stones of positivity and respectability, largely because boy. Yes, it’s also who he was and is, but what comes first, the chicken or the egg – because the expectations and automatic endowment of his rights and respectability were real, were sunny, and were significant. Lucky guy, eh? Eh. Nice too, actually, if a tad spoilt and unconscious, yet that tiny Gable frame, so sweet.
It’s much easier to be nice, and easy going, I have observed, when people treat you with respect, when expectations are high, and uniformly positive from the get go. It much, much easier to be a nice, moderate person when you’re not ‘interfered with’, pursued, muddied by numerous men in your family and community who think they have a kind of ownership of your space and your body because vagina. It’s much easier to be nice, and kind when you’re never told you are ‘less than’, and can’t do this or that because, again, vagina. Sigh.
It was at the Galli-Curci I first fell in love with the movies. Settling in with a red and white striped box of popcorn, I was – other than Romeo and Juliet – not to be distracted by any social nonsense or horseplay going on in the rows; I was intent on the big screen. Still am, although yes, I stream films all the time now. The closet movie theatre is 45 miles away. If only. Who knows, maybe one day the Galli-Curci will rise again. Who knows?
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amelita_Galli-Curci
