The Rialto, a 1928 movie palace with 600 red velvet seats, nearly closed for good four years ago. This fall, its Friday double features are selling out. On a recent Friday night, the line for a pairing of two classic screwball comedies stretched past the shoe repair shop next door and around the corner, and the box office hung its handwritten “Sold Out” sign at 7:12 p.m., nearly an hour before the first reel.
A volunteer crew of 80 runs the concession stand and ushers, and a members’ program now covers the building’s heating bill. For a theater that once showed first-run films to a dozen people on weeknights, the turnaround has been fast, and the people who made it happen are still a little surprised.
The trouble began the way it has for many single-screen theaters across the country. Studios shortened the window between theatrical release and streaming, the old projector needed expensive repairs, and the audience thinned out to a handful of loyal regulars. The previous owners announced a closing date and put the building up for sale.
What happened next was less a rescue plan than a series of small decisions. A group of neighbors formed a nonprofit, the Friends of the Rialto, and persuaded the owners to lease the building for one year at a reduced rate. They had no money for a new digital system, so they leaned into what the theater already had: a working 35mm booth, a balcony with original plaster details and a marquee that could still spell out a title in red letters.
“We didn’t have the budget to compete with the multiplex,” said program director Laura Bennett, who joined as a volunteer and now holds one of the theater’s three paid jobs. “So we stopped trying. We decided to be the one place in town that shows old movies the way they were meant to be seen.”
The Rialto still runs a restored 35mm projector for most of its Friday double features.
Popcorn, volunteers and a heating bill
For the first two years, the theater survived largely on concession sales. A bag of popcorn costs the Rialto pennies to make and sells for $4, and on a busy night the stand brings in more than the tickets do. The nonprofit kept ticket prices low on purpose, at $9 for a double feature, so that families and students could afford to come back every week.
The volunteers are the other half of the story. The crew of 80 includes retirees who remember the Rialto’s first-run days, high school students earning service hours and a handful of film buffs who simply wanted a reason to be in the building. They tear tickets, sweep the aisles between features, run the stand and, on special nights, dress in period costume to greet the line outside.
The biggest single expense was heat. A drafty 1920s auditorium with a 40-foot ceiling is expensive to keep warm through a northern winter, and the first season’s bills nearly ended the experiment. The fix was a members’ program: for $60 a year, members get discounted tickets, early seating and their name on a plaque in the lobby. Today, enough people have signed up that membership dues cover the full heating bill, with a little left over for repairs.
How the money breaks down
Concessions: the largest source of income on most nights
Ticket sales: kept low at $9 for a double feature
Memberships: $60 a year, enough to cover winter heating
Private rentals: birthday parties, school field trips and a few weddings
Small donations: a jar at the stand and an annual fall fundraiser
Why the double features work
Bennett credits the Friday double feature with the theater’s comeback. Each week she pairs two films around a theme, such as two heist movies, two road comedies or a silent classic followed by a talkie remake. A short intermission between films includes a trivia question, a vintage cartoon and a brief introduction from a volunteer who has researched the night’s picks.
People want to watch movies together again. They just needed a reason to leave the couch.
Laura Bennett, program director
The format, she said, turns a movie into an evening. Audiences laugh louder in a full room, and strangers end up talking in the lobby between features. Several regulars told the Ledger they had seen the same films at home but never felt the reaction of 600 people around them.
“My daughter had seen one of these on her tablet and thought it was boring,” said Mark Ostrander, who brought his family to a recent screening. “Then she watched it here with everyone laughing at the same jokes, and now she wants to come every Friday.”
Popcorn sales kept the theater open during its leanest years.
A building with a long memory
The Rialto opened in the spring of 1928, a few months before sound films took over the industry. It was built with an orchestra pit and a pipe organ for silent pictures, both long gone, and a ceiling painted with gold stars that volunteers spent a summer cleaning by hand. The original seats were replaced in the 1960s with the red velvet chairs that remain today.
Over the decades, the theater survived the arrival of television, the rise of suburban multiplexes and a brief stretch in the 1980s as a second-run discount house. Longtime residents still share stories about first dates in the balcony and Saturday matinees that cost a quarter. The nonprofit has started collecting those memories in a small archive near the lobby, with ticket stubs, photos and an old usher’s uniform donated by a local family.
Preservation remains a work in progress. The roof needs attention within the next few years, and the marquee’s neon tubing is fragile. The Friends of the Rialto have started a capital campaign with a goal of $350,000, and they hope to finish the roof before the building’s 100th birthday.
Key takeaway: The Rialto did not survive by chasing new releases. It survived by offering something people could not get at home: a shared night out in a historic room, at a price families could afford.
What comes next for the Rialto
With weekends now selling out, the nonprofit is adding programming. A Sunday afternoon series for children starts next month, and a monthly silent film night will feature a live pianist. Bennett is also working with the local high school on a student film festival in the spring, which would put homemade movies on the same screen as the classics.
The board has been careful not to grow too fast. Volunteers are already stretched on Fridays, and the group wants to recruit and train more help before adding nights. Anyone interested can sign up at the box office, where a clipboard sits next to the ticket roll.
Neighboring businesses have noticed the change. The diner across the street now stays open until 11 p.m. on Fridays, and a bookstore two doors down hosts a small table of film books during intermission. “Friday used to be our slowest night,” said diner owner Gary Whitlock. “Now we get a rush before the first movie and another one after the second. The Rialto brought the block back to life.”
For now, the Friday ritual continues. The marquee lights come on at dusk, the line forms early and, just before the lights go down, a volunteer steps to the front of the stage to welcome the crowd. On most weeks, the room is full. Four years after it nearly went dark, the Rialto has its audience back, and the people inside seem determined to keep it that way.
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