The Carlton theatre closed down. It surprised little, and the only thing that jostles is how immediately it came to fruition. Though to me less so. Maybe I’m cold, but see it from my angle. Even pre-recession I’ve been surrounded by closing theatres. Within walkable distance is what used to be The Capitol, The Eglinton Grande, and it’s been so long I can’t even remember what that theatre a block away from what used to be Fran’s then used to be Hooters and last I checked was a Hosu was called before it too became an event hall. It was at those tiny places I saw Planet of the Apes, Star Wars and Looney Tune showcases as a kid. But with the Carlton, I am at least at an age where the closure darkens the day of myself and not just my parents, who typically respond with a drawn out, down tone, “reeeally?”

Me and site familiars Nancy and Jakub had been successfully seeing a movie once a week for the past month. Almost as if it was in the stars, the movie we decided to see a screening of next was Good Hair, and it was only playing at the Carlton. We saw it on the last night of the venue’s existence.

For we the movie goers, walking in seemed like no different occasion than many other outings. I should take into account that even the people we saw there may have only come out to see the place as it was one last time. I got a different feeling about the staff though. Five odd youths, wearing the employee short sleeves, tattooed half sleeves covering the rest of the arm, nestled in behind the tiny concession stand. I can’t say how long they had been working there, as I had only been in the building for ten minutes, but even they may have wanted to juice the final hours. Nancy and I split the biggest popcorn they serve, if only for the memories sake. It was way too big.

Walking down the hall to the cinemas, the walls were still lined with “Coming Soon” posters. I half mocked the concept that The Lovely Bones would in fact not be about to play here. We hit the tiny junction where the hall swiftly spitfires into the dozen odd separate theatres. At first we didn’t even spot our own theatre, Nancy said the door looked like it was meant for the closet. The theatre itself, not much bigger than the average person’s basement pad, was at best a quarter full. It was upon visual recognition that I remembered this is where I saw Kill Bill with my dad. The screen curtain creaked down on a pole instead of parting sides from the middle. Jakub said that it was very ghetto. I responded saying ghetto would be a staff member coming in to remove the curtain manually.

We watched the Chris Rock documentary, which I would recommend as it is interesting, but entirely besides the point.

It was as we left that the theatre suddenly sparked to life, far more what I expected from the last living evening of the Cineplex. People standing around in small divisions, conversing, mingling and snacking. If the theatre always looked like this, it probably wouldn’t be closing.

We left the doors, swooping by these now plenty strangers. Jakub wondered where he would now go to see Antichrist. I was wondering how I was going to convince Jakub to take the popcorn off my hands.