By Cathy Salustri

The true mark of a great movie house is the buttery stuff in the middle of the popcorn bag. Most modern movie theatres make customers to butter their own popcorn, robbing patrons of a complete popcorn experience.
People seeking the complete popcorn experience—as well as a traditional moviegoing one—know about The Beach Theatre, the last movie house of its kind in Pinellas County. Built 70 years ago—the same year that introduced the world to classics like Gone With the Wind, Wuthering Heights, and The Wizard of Oz—the Beach Theatre serves a small but dedicated group of moviegoers. This diverse group ranges from the die-hard Rocky Horror fan to the soccer mom bringing her kids to see Flash Gordon to a free Saturday morning show.
To say that the Beach Theatre has survived because they put butter in the middle of the popcorn bags is somewhat simplistic, however true. The Beach Theatre remains not only as a tribute to history but a testament that more isn’t always better. Sometimes better isn’t even better.
“Back in 1968, there were more movie theatres like this,” owner and screenwriter Michael France says of the theatres of his youth. France used to come to the Beach Theatre as a teenager. “I liked the fact that it was a single screen. That mattered to me, even when I was 15.”
The theatre isn’t perfect. Things have aged since the theatre opened with Dust Be My Destiny in 1939. Seats break. The popcorn machine occasionally goes on the fritz, and the new projector was a long time coming.
But that’s just the thing: people don’t seem to care about the seats or the projector or the times when they can’t get popcorn. No one complains that they only have one screen and no children’s playroom or a bevy of video games in the tiny lobby.
What does seem to matter, though, is that the theatre is dedicated to movies rather than the frills commonly associated with modern movieplexes. The Beach Theatre isn’t a movieplex; it’s a movie house.
France, who bought the Beach Theatre in spring of 2007, understands the importance of a movie house. As a screenwriter (he’s written The Punisher and Hulk as well as many other screenplays) he understands the movie business. Although he must, as a working screenwriter, want his films shown on as many screens as possible, he doesn’t want as many screens as possible at the movie house on Corey. Instead, he wants to keep the theatre as it stands: a standalone single screen.
“I was really worried that nobody would buy it and it would get torn down and turned into a restaurant or bikini shop of something,” France said. Shortly after he bought the theatre he started offering free Saturday morning kid shows.
“That was something I remember as a kid that seems to have gone away,” he says. France looks for sponsors so he can run movies. His requirements for movie to run as the free Saturday morning show are simple: they must appeal to kids and the film must be at least 10 years old.
Although the Beach Theatre bills these shows as “kids” shows, the crowds are often anything but. When the theatre shows a Ray Harryhausen or Sinbad, it’s not uncommon to see grown-ups of all ages in the theatre.
France said owning the Beach Theatre was the realization of a dream.
Once he bough the theatre he realized there was more to his dream than he thought.
“I figured it would be fun to own a movie theatre. It was more work than I thought. I thought I’d be walking around and saying ‘Whee! This is the movie we’ll be running this week’,” he says, grinning. “Everything had to be fixed the year I bought it, from the plumbing to the sound system.”
Even so, France said he’s glad he owns the theatre. He’s got a small but passionate staff and a loyal following of patrons. Every show brings in different crowds. Just before Halloween, the theatre showed the original Night of the Living Dead. Among the theatergoers was Stacey Whitworth, a horror film junkie. To Whitworth, though, this movie was special.
When her father first asked her mother out on a date, he took her to see Night of the Living Dead. Her mother, though, lacked her father’s enthusiasm for zombies and poor writing and got up and walked out of the theatre. Her father was forced to choose between watching the rest of this future classic and going after the love of his life. Whitworth remembers hearing this story over and over while she and her sister were growing up.
Every time she can catch a showing, she goes to see the film. Even though her father died several years ago, she can always remember him when she sits down in a less-than-perfect chair at the Beach Theatre and watches the zombies attack Barbra and Johnny.
It may not be a Norman Rockwell memory, but it’s the kind of memory that makes the Beach Theatre special. It’s one of the many reasons France keeps the theatre open despite the problems. It’s why he spends money on a new projector and tears up the lobby floor to fix the plumbing and lets kids watch free movies on Saturday mornings.
It’s a type of history not found in textbooks or taught in the schools, but in many ways it matters more. It’s local history, and every day when France opens the doors and turns on the projector, he’s keeping it alive.
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