When I arrived at the Varsity Theater for last night’s “Don’t Monkey with the Oak Street” meeting, it was a balmy night, ripe for an outdoor game of baseball, an ice cream cone, or an assault on my neglected lawn. As I crossed 4th street I thought, God knows why I go to these things, to hope and worry and spend another night tossing and turning and praying that things work out. But I do–go to these things that is–and I did. And, when it comes down to it, I knew I had to be there if I wanted my favorite haunt to survive.
The Oak Street Cinema is closed for now. According to volunteer Barry Kryshka, who has worked with the cinema for over eleven years and had been there until just recently, the theater manager had quit, as had a pair of projectionists. “Who knows who’s left,” he wondered, and I wondered, too. The Oak Street has not had an extended calendar in weeks, and has eschewed its old menu of classics for second run films like Crash and Match Point. In the right hands, the Oak Street wouldn’t lack for help–last night’s show packed the Varsity, with literally hundreds of concerned moviegoers milling about, signing pledges for money, quaffing Guinness and feasting on the free artichoke dip and baguette slices. There was the old crowd in the center of the room, the regulars I see at every show, replete with their old Oak Street shirts wrinkled beneath a pair of suspenders, each guy with a briefcase and some film bio, trying to shout the others down about which movie still was being projected on the screen up front. Barry had spent a good deal of time on the internet, gathering shots from movies that had played at the Oak Street, from Gun Crazy to The Godfather, Paths of Glory to Beyond the Valley of the Dolls, and “that still from some Kong film from Japan–Baby Kong, Son of Kong, I don’t remember. Look at him tearing into that toy boat! It never showed, but it was too cool to ignore.” Barry’s favorite movie at the Oak Street: “The Taking of Pelham One, Two, Three. I love New York City cop dramas.”
I settled down with my beer and watched and listened: unlike the last meeting, back in January, this one seemed infinitely more hopeful. At the former meeting, the whole desperate situation took members by surprise, and no one knew what to say except to shout their displeasure. Last night there was an actual proposal to read, the situation was well organized with a table of information, eats, etc. People were nervous but chatty, hoping for the best.
The proposal, simply put, states that the Oak Street’s mission is to “keep the history of cinema alive by projecting films in a theatrical context, and to help educate new generations to the value of classic cinema experienced communally in a neighborhood movie theater”. It voices everyone’s concern over the fact that this mission is being ignored, at the lack of repertory films, and the suggestion that the theater’s being shown to developers (though I’ve heard from a board member that this was done to secure a loan). The gist of the situation: let Bob Cowgill run the thing, with his own money if need be, until the place gets back on its feet.
In my mind, this isn’t such a bad idea. The board has been silent on what they plan to do with the place, leaving that January meeting as the last piece of real dialogue. When Cowgill retired from the Oak Street awhile back, he had bought the building, whittled its mortgage down to next to nothing, and left over two hundred grand in the bank. He’s definitely got a track record of success. That, coupled with the board’s nearly six months of near silence (Hook was fired in October, and for most of us the news of the debt wasn’t understood until January, and now, in April, there’s still no plan). If the board is so interested in the upcoming film festival–which is not an ignoble concern–why not give the Oak Street back to the people who made it the finest repertory theater in the Midwest?
At 7:45, Bob climbed onstage, did a little hop by way of acknowledging the applause, and stated, briefly, this proposal. He then offered to give the mike over to anyone else following the movie, An Eastern Westerner, a Harold Lloyd short with accompaniment from the fabulous Rich Dworsky. At this, Al Milgrom, standing in the back, barked something and vanished.
In spite of being just over twenty minutes, the movie seemed to take forever. It was funny, the music was great, but you can’t concentrate on your funny bone with so much tension in the room. There’s not much story in An Eastern Westerner, just Harold Lloyd getting shipped west by his family, to a town that’s run by a bully and his Klansmen pals. Hijinks ensue when Lloyd tries to save a young woman from the masher. And then it was over.
Bob climbed back up the podium, acknowledged Mr. Dworsky’s piano playing and asked if there was anyone who wanted to come forward. Al? Al Milgrom? Nothing. After a spell, however, board president Stephen Zuckerman walked slowly through the gauntlet and made his way onstage, alone, to face the music. Dressed in a wrinkled blue shirt and orange shorts, he looked more like he was ready for a backyard barbecue than shout-down. Stephen tried to bat off concerns and put a good face on things. As usual there was a crackpot: one guy who went on and on about the fact that he went recently to see a movie at the Bell and it wasn’t showing even though he’d looked it up online and in the paper but they were having some “Dead Poets Society” (his words, baffling to us all) and who is running the website anyway? I felt for Stephen–he also had to contend with a couple of loudmouths who wouldn’t take their turn at the mike, questions from a friendly guy carrying a baby, Bob yelling “give me a chance!”, and then, from volunteer Ian Whitney, this startling news: apparently Ian waited in front of the Oak Street to direct people confused over the venue, when someone rode up on a bike and told Ian that he was “defacing my theater” and called the cops. There was speculation that this was a board member, someone who considered the Oak Street “his”. The cops just drove up, slowed down, and kept going.
Everyone who took the mike acknowledged that Stephen was brave to come there and take this abuse, and then proceeded to abuse him. Because they’re aching just like I was, wondering what the hell was going on and why we had come to this point.
Above all, it should have been clear to everyone that we weren’t going to get any solid answers from Stephen. He did his best, but eventually even his patience ran out, and finally said that this whole thing started when Bob quit, so it was really his fault as much as anyone’s. That was clearly the wrong thing to say, and Stephen was met with a volley of boos and shouts. Frustrated, he asked Bob, “How are you going to do it? You have a full time job! How are you going to run the Oak Street and still keep teaching?”
With that, Bob shrugged and said, “Magic. And a little song and dance.” And then proceeded to wow the audience with a Cole Porter tune with new lyrics he’d penned himself: Don’t Monkey with the Oak Street! He and Stephen even did a two-step while we sang out the chorus.
Afterward, everyone mingled, trying their level best to elbow in for a thank you or a longer conversation with Bob or Stephen. The regulars at the their table didn’t move, but spoke at length about this movie and that, chowing on dip and grumbling over Bob’s treatment at the hands of the board. Peter Wagenius, the mayor’s aide who tried to keep the last meeting in order, was there, walking around with a concerned look on his face. I noticed a couple of film critics from other papers, and a good two dozen former volunteers, a wonderful community, hugging one another and gesticulating, each one jazzed at the success of the evening. I spoke with the some of these volunteers, who gave me their take of the Oak Street’s downfall, of former director Jamie Hook’s short tenure, the board’s silence, of what they would do, and will do, should this next attempt succeed or fail. They were full of hope, and that gave me some hope. And, like Barry, they shared their favorite Oak Street movie memories: Ian’s, for instance, was Two Lane Blacktop.
It took me awhile to get through the crowd to Stephen, but when I did he was in great spirits for a guy who’d been soundly booed, shouted at, and poked with sticky questions. He wouldn’t commit to admitting to any plan to help the Oak Street, except that they would get on it as soon as the festival was over. He shrugged when asked if repertory cinema is feasible nowadays. But his favorite movie at the Oak Street was the most recent: Finding Shawn, because, man, “I lived right there, on Haight and Ashbury back then, and that movie brought it all back.” Then, with a touch of wistfulness, he added, “You know, if people want to back rep, we won’t say no. We’re willing to be proven wrong.”
I spoke with Bob last, as the place was emptying out and we couldn’t even buy a beer anymore (though it was only 9:30). Bob was thrilled and frustrated and as riled up as anyone. As we spoke, it was announced that there were already over $37,000 in pledges, a roaring success, and we both smiled. Bob laid out his frustrations with the board, with watching the theater he’d helped build go from being fully solvent to seriously in debt. “When I retired from the Oak Street, I was told to leave the new director alone, to let him do his thing. Maybe that was a mistake. Because frankly, I was surprised he wasn’t fired sooner, when they discovered he’d missed the grants.” An additional shock was that last year’s festival went off well in spite of this, or so he thought. Then word got out that the MFA lost money on the festival, Hook was fired, and the Oak Street was in serious trouble. In December, Bob met with two members of the board, Tim Grady and Susan Smoluchowski, and he told them that they owed him a chance to save the theater. Bob even offered to put up his own money to ease the debt, and have a series of fundraisers. “I was told that it was ‘too little too late.’ It was even suggested that I was delusional about the mission [to show repertory films]”. But then there seemed to be a change of heart, and there was talk of Bob’s coming on board. That came and went, time passed, and they stopped talking to him. While we spoke, Bob fidgeted and blinked, spoke with tremendous pride at his accomplishments, with righteous anger at the current failures, and, at times, spoke quietly, wondering how much of this was his fault. He included a number of regrets, things he felt he could have done to make the Oak Street more solvent today. And he finally answered Stephen’s primary concern, as to whether or not Bob could fully commit himself. Bob was teaching, full time, when he started Oak Street. “I’d make the time now, as I did then.”
Throughout the night, I’d asked various volunteers if they’d consider starting over in a new location if their recent attempt failed. A number of them said definitely, and one went so far as to suggest a few new venues. But at this question, Bob sighed heavily and hung his head. “I don’t know. For me, it’s the Oak Street–that place felt right. When we opened it, I knew we had something special.” And he was worried that the perception was that things would be easy if he were back in charge. “I don’t want anyone to think it’s easy. We had volunteers at the start, paid people next to nothing, and you had to keep it in line financially. It was hard. Very hard. And it’s become more and more expensive to do this kind of thing. Probably we would need to go back to that volunteer energy. Perhaps that’s what kept it so great in the first place.”
“The board is scared, scared of debt and scared of repertory cinema,” he continued. “They’re tired. Really, the only misfeasance on the board’s part is in not trusting me. You need to utilize what people have to offer you when you’re in trouble. I have the energy, the resources, and the smarts to get this thing off the ground.” If he were allowed to take over for the time being, Bob promised that he would utilize every angle to raise money, from pledges to approaching the funding community again to a series of fundraisers, perhaps bringing to town many of the directors who have appeared at the theater in the past. “If we did all that, using my time and even my money, and we failed, I would join the board in saying repertory theater isn’t possible. But I firmly believe that if New York or Pittsburgh or Los Angeles can have these types of theaters, then Minnesota can too. I just want to be given the chance.”
Bob fell into a profound silence after that. “This night was a tremendous success. Now I have to figure out where to go from here.” When I asked him about his favorite film that played at the Oak Street, it was as if new life ran through him. We were standing, and he flailed his arms and raised his voice like he was preaching on a streetcorner. “I remember one night, it was February and freezing, a Tuesday I want to say, and we were showing Bergman’s Summer Interlude, and we had maybe a dozen, two dozen people in the audience. But I thought, here we are in Minneapolis and these people fought the cold to see this wonderful film.” He beamed. “There were many nights like that.”
By now the Varsity was empty, except for all the volunteers loafing in their Oak Street King Kong shirts, looking amazed at the success of the evening. They’re a good group of people. I don’t believe that anyone’s out to destroy the Oak Street, and over the next few weeks I hope I can uncover more of this story–it would be helpful to hear the board’s point of view, and what Al Milgrom has to say. Throughout the night volunteers and concerned folks often slipped into theories as to why the board is acting the way they did, from being focused solely on the festival and Bell programming, to being inept, to hungering for the land the theater sits on. Not having spoken to anyone at length but Stephen, I can’t say whether any of that’s true or not–except to point out that the board’s silence can do nothing but provoke these notions.
As I walked back to my car the night was still clear and balmy. I was a mess of contradictions, feeling furious at the people who drove the cinema into debt and frustrated that there has been such poor communication, but pleased to see so many like-minded people at both meetings, giving me a glimmer of hope. That night I remembered my first experience at the Oak Street, seeing Pickup on South Street in July or August years ago. I had called the theater to make sure it was playing and get directions–this was before Moviefone or the internet–and the guy on the line said, “Our air conditioner’s broken, so it’s hot. But we’ve got free pop!” So we went, Janice and I, to sip our lukewarm Cokes and watch a great movie that takes place in a broiling New York City while we broiled ourselves. Last night I drove by a shuttered Oak Street on my way home and I thought to myself: we’re not asking for a few hundred million from the state and a retractable roof, nor are we hoping for a constitutional amendment to fix what our prejudices tell us is wrong, no, we’re just asking one group of concerned people to give the theater to another group of concerned people who’ll do their absolute best to keep it going. It’s deeply frustrating that it should be so hard, but I know from past experience that saving these kind of things always is. And then I remembered all those movies I’d seen, Nashville and Little Otik and Singin’ in the Rain and every other wonderful picture at the Oak Street, and that after each show I was always thankful, knowing that the good things rarely last, but wishing they could go on forever.
