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The Heights Theatre lies a good eight miles northeast of the proven epicenter for upscale commercial film, the Lagoon Cinema in Uptown. Yet, at press time, both theaters are playing Robert Altman's Cookie's Fortune, the movie that opened this year's Sundance Film Festival. As one theater caters to the hipsters and the arty professionals of Minneapolis, the other services the adventurous filmgoers of Columbia Heights. Cineastes in Columbia Heights? you ask. Hasn't this long been the budget movie turf where every Lethal Weapon goes to fire its final shot? What's up with this picture?
From the outside, the two venues appear as different from one another as, say, Life Is Beautiful and Affliction. Where the splashy Lagoon is nestled in between a well-trafficked bookstore and a trendy, tequila-soaked bistro, the antique Heights (est. 1927) sits across Central Avenue Northeast from a pinchpenny storefront heralding "HOT DEALS" and Beanie Babies, with a Burger King on one side of the theater and a Dairy Queen on the other. To be sure, any movie house could benefit from such proximity to an after-show dessert spot, but in the case of the Heights, it's literally the nearby ice cream that allows the theater to unspool its own goodies.
"The whole idea from the beginning was to buy both the DQ and the theater," says Tom Letness, who, along with his partner Dave Holmgren, has co-owned and -operated this pair of mom-and-pop outfits since November of last year. Acting as equal parts entrepreneurs and cineastes, the two native Minnesotans have been using the revenue from their Central Avenue Dairy Queen (and another that they own near Mount Rushmore in the Black Hills) to manage the Heights as a de facto nonprofit. Call it a case of just deserts, since these sweet-toothed film buffs have afforded themselves the opportunity to screen everything from Foxy Brown to Hilary and Jackie in a neighborhood that might seem inhospitable to anything but the next Blockbuster Video. "We're definitely not doing this to get rich," reports Letness. "But if we can keep the Dairy Queen going strong while getting a few people into the Heights who appreciate what we're trying to do with it, then we'll be able to keep putting money into the theater."
Indeed, in the six months since they purchased the Heights for $155,000 from Bob Moen and Loren Williams (the latter of whom continues to run the Riverview Theater in Minneapolis), Holmgren and Letness have not only upgraded the film fare from the monstrous likes of Godzilla but have spent roughly 20 grand on returning the 410-seat theater to its original state. Gone is the turquoise-colored aluminum siding that adorned the Heights in its final decade as a second- and third-run house, replaced by a restored version of the brown-brick façade that went up at the theater's christening in the same year that movies became talkies. The thirtysomething co-owners have also greatly improved the projection and sound equipment, as well as the once-squalid lobby and the Spanish-Italianate interior of the screening room itself (which somewhat recalls the splendor of the endangered Suburban World). In the process, Letness and Holmgren have earned the approval of the city of Columbia Heights, which had thought the theater space might be better used as an empty lot. "Eventually," boasts the A/V expert Holmgren, "we'll have the same projection equipment the Cooper Theatre did on the day it closed."
What distinguishes this upstart art house is its owners' risk-it-all (or is that reckless?) passion for cinema. The proof is in the programming, which has included not only Uptown-area attractions but also some relative esoterica: "Bollywood" action-adventure musicals from India, midnight shows of vintage cult movies (e.g., Foxy Brown), weekend matinees for kids of all ages (e.g., It's a Mad Mad Mad Mad World), and the recent ultrarare screenings of Aliens in 70mm and Dolby Stereo.
There's more on the way: A one-day-only "Minnesota Film Festival" will be held at the Heights on May 19 in conjunction with Art-a-Whirl (and in playful opposition to the opening of a little indie called The Phantom Menace); and on Friday, the theater will have its first exclusive, local-premiere run with the low-budget acey-deucey romp Relax...It's Just Sex, the booking of which could help convince independent distributors that their films do have a place to screen outside of Uptown. And did I mention the co-owners' imminent plans to offer live organ music before shows? Or the world-class Wurlitzer that might one day blare accompaniment to such silent-film classics as Ben Hur?
Speaking of organ music, some skeptics have suggested that the new Heights' lofty ambition is but a pipe dream. Holmgren admits that a few of his own friends have asked, rather offensively, "Are there enough smart people in Columbia Heights?" And among the fellow film enthusiasts with whom I've discussed the theater's potential, the blue-collar neighborhood has come up repeatedly as a limiting factor.
But on a balmy Sunday evening at a quarter to seven, the plan appears to be working perfectly: Not a soul has shown up yet for the 7:15 p.m. screening, but dozens are queued outside the Dairy Queen waiting for the Peanut Buster Parfaits that will pay for Cookie's Fortune. A few minutes later, some Heights ticket buyers begin to trickle in, led by an older gent in black shorts who gives himself away as a regular by ordering the concession-stand "special" (a medium popcorn and a large drink for four bucks, refills included) and asking Letness, "So what's the next movie?"
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