Vanishing Chicago: The Esquire

The single best movie-going day of my movie-going life came in the summer of 1982, when my then-landlord's eldest son and I hopped on the No. 66 Chicago Avenue bus, rode downtown and caught three blockbusters at three separate theaters all within relative walking of one another: Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan at the Esquire, Poltergeist at the McClurg Court, and Conan the Barbarian at the Carnegie. After that last movie, we went to the Burger King at Chicago and State; something about Conan had put us in the mood for meat.

That was a long time ago, before the multiplexes moved into downtown.

The Carnegie has been gone for ages, closed in the mid-1980s and demolished. The McClurg Court survived into this decade, despite a theater with nine screens opening to its west and another with 21 screens opening to its south; its large main screen, a remnant of the days when it was a single 1,200-seat theater before it was split into three smaller theaters and ideal for epics like Titanic, may be why it lasted so much longer. But it eventually succumbed in 2003; it now sits empty, awaiting repurposing.

And as of today, the Esquire will be gone as well.

It was always the oldest of the three, opened in the 1930s as an elegant downtown movie house just off of Michigan Avenue, now one of the premier shopping districts in the world. In recent years, its age showed, at least on the interior: Worn carpets, uncomfortable seats and sparsely populated (if manned at all) snack bars.

Like so many older theaters, the Esquire had been split up in the 1980s; what had been one screen became six. But six, in the long run, wasn't nearly enough. The same multiplexes that took down the McClurg Court also contributed to the Esquire's demise, but so did its location. The current owner of the property, after patting himself on the ass for having kept the theater open longer than he probably should have, given the red ink it was soaking in, announced that it will be razed, with a low-rise shopping/dining complex rising in its place.

But do we need more shopping on Oak Street? And even if there isn't a restaurant right on Oak, certainly there are plenty of upscale eateries within short walking distance in any direction.

Smaller movie theaters, on the other hand, are a breed dying a slow, lingering death. So many have gone under in recent years, like the Biograph (reopening as a live theater soon), the Burnham Plaza (converted to office space) and the 3 Penny (just...closed). I went to them all and came away with memories, good and bad.

Not all local movie houses are on the decline, though. In the years since being threatened with demolition/condo conversion, the Davis has thrived by showing first-run movies at discount prices. When I saw The Illusionist there on Labor Day with JB and Dee, the theater was respectably full, and a line snaked down the block for some other movie (probably Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby) on our way out. The current owner has even spruced the joint up a bit, installing seats that don't make my ass hurt nearly as much.

Another North Side movie house, the Portage, has actually come back to life after being shuttered for a few years. It now hosts special events like the Silent Film Society of Chicago's annual festival and next month's Chicago Horror Film Festival (especially appropriate, with the huge Halloween costume shop just Milwaukee Avenue). And still another, the Patio, closed for five years, has a banner hanging on its badly dented and rusting marquee mentioning renovation and rehabilitation, so there's at least a sliver of hope that it might see a revival.

The Esquire's fate is sealed, however, and has been for quite some time. I didn't go to it as often as I had in the past--the last movie I saw there was Brokeback Mountain this past Christmas--but I'll miss it nonetheless, just like I'd miss any old friend, even one that didn't dress as nicely as it once had and had gone a bit to pot. There aren't that many old movie houses left, and we aren't doing a very good job of treasuring, maintaining and supporting the ones we still have.

So when the screens go dark for the last time tonight, all we'll have left are memories. For me, the Esquire always be the place I saw William Shatner, bad poodle-shaped toupee and all, screaming into his communicator, "KHHHHAAAAANNNNNN," his voice echoing and finally fading into the void.