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Virginia Motion Pictures North Baltimore Ohio
NORTH BALTIMORE, Ohio — Empty film reels hang from the brick wall of the Virginia Theatre’s small projection booth, where for decades miles of film made movie magic for the audience below.
The 1937 theater is an anachronism in an era of urban-sprawl cineplexes fitted with plush seats and copious cup holders.
The single-screen Virginia is tucked between two insurance agencies on Main Street in North Baltimore, a village of 3,432 in southern Wood County. Its 212 seats are reupholstered originals, tickets cost $4, and movies are shown from 35-millimeter film.
Outside the lobby, which still smells faintly of popcorn, and away from the cheerful but chipped circus-striped marquee, the world changed.
Digital files have all but eradicated film. Movie makers produce only a couple hundred prints of large releases and send those copies to high-grossing theaters.
Film’s scarcity forced the Virginia to suspend operations July 31, but now local movie lovers are trying to raise nearly $50,000 to buy a digital system and keep the theater open.
“It’s so sad to see the marquee darkened because it suggests that Main Street is dead. So we are hoping by getting enough money to convert the theater … that will convey the message that North Baltimore is alive and well,” said Ralph Wolfe, chairman of the fund-raising committee and a retired Bowling Green State University film studies professor.
The group recently sent letters to residents and businesses touting the campaign, which runs through Nov. 21. Donors’ checks will be returned if the effort falls short of the needed amount. Any purchased equipment will stay permanently with the theater building, said Doug Wickard, who took over operation of the movie house in 2012 from his son.
Similar efforts to preserve small-town theaters have occurred across the country and state, wherever the venues are prized for sparking spending and adding vitality to downtowns.
“There are a number of communities that have worked to save these theaters that have realized how important they are to the community,” said Jeff Siegler, director of revitalization for the historic preservation organization Heritage Ohio.
Some theaters have tried online crowdfunding or tapping community support to pay for the digital conversion, which costs about $70,000 per movie screen, said Patrick Corcoran, spokesman for the National Association of Theatre Owners.
The association estimated 88 percent of the nation’s 5,840 theaters have abandoned film so far. Studios eager to save money pushed the shift, and the pace picked up in 2009 as movies such as Avatar showcased digital’s potential.
The effort to convert the big Toledo-area multiplexes, now owned by Cinemark, gathered momentum in 2010. Downtown theaters in Fremont, Maumee, Bryan, Bluffton, Ada, and Kenton have gone digital too, as did several northwest Ohio drive-ins last year. That leaves the Virginia among the last movie venues in the region to convert or close.
Many of the theaters that haven’t switched are smaller, independent movie houses that can’t afford to buy equipment. For at least one that did, the challenges didn’t end with the digital upgrade.
If he had a choice, Mr. Wickard would stick with film. He gets film. He’s used to hoisting the heavy reels and splicing 10,000 feet of film together to build one seamless feature-length movie plus previews. He easily traces the film’s route around the projection booth, where it threads across the ceiling and down through the projector. He knows how to fix a glitch on the fly.
“This is a 1964 projector. It’s got a transmission drive; they’re sort of simple to work on. The new stuff’s all high-tech, whatever,” he said.
Digital movies will be programmed from a laptop in advance to start at showtime. It’s simple, he’s been promised. But it’s also a big change for a guy who jokes he’s more comfortable with an Etch A Sketch than a computer.
Mr. Wickard, 56, was just a kid when he first scaled the turning steps at the back of the Virginia to the projection booth. At the time, the theater used a two-projector system to show a single movie. The projectionist swung back and forth between the two machines, firing up one as the other wound down.
The hot, action-packed work required constant vigilance. A toilet and a sink were crammed into the booth so the projectionist didn’t have to leave his post during a screening. A gofer brought him pop and popcorn. For a couple years in the late 1960s, Mr. Wickard ran up and down the stairs with requested items and cleaned up afterwards.
During his first shift, he scrawled his name, Doug Wicky, and the date, Dec. 16, 1967, on a door where other employees also left their mark. The door is no longer in use, but it’s sentimentally stashed for safekeeping behind black curtains at the front of the house.
Like Mr. Wickard, Mr. Wolfe, 83, of North Baltimore has a long and personal attachment to the theater. He began going to movies at the Virginia when it opened. His visits multiplied in 1943 when his freckled, red-haired father opened Red’s Restaurant above the theater.
“I could see every movie that came to town,” he said.
That meant plenty of time with film favorites Bette Davis, Tyrone Power, and Clark Gable. He risked his father’s admonition, and received a boot in the rear end, when he sneaked into the theater to see Gone with the Wind instead of taking the school bus home as ordered.
“Oh, it was worth it,” Mr. Wolfe said.
The Virginia has been shuttered before at various times, including in 1959 when the first owner closed it. More ownership and name changes would follow. In 2009, Mr. Wickard’s son, Jayson Wickard, reopened the theater as Virginia Motion Pictures after a roughly one-year closure.
Movie buffs hope the current campaign can resurrect it once again. Mr. Wolfe said he’s already secured a pledge from Academy Award-winning actress Eva Marie Saint, a 1946 graduate of BGSU.
April 2018 the curtain fell for the last time and the Virginia closed for good...
Virginia Motion Pictures North Baltimore Ohio
NORTH BALTIMORE, Ohio — Empty film reels hang from the brick wall of the Virginia Theatre’s small projection booth, where for decades miles of film made movie magic for the audience below.
The 1937 theater is an anachronism in an era of urban-sprawl cineplexes fitted with plush seats and copious cup holders.
The single-screen Virginia is tucked between two insurance agencies on Main Street in North Baltimore, a village of 3,432 in southern Wood County. Its 212 seats are reupholstered originals, tickets cost $4, and movies are shown from 35-millimeter film.
Outside the lobby, which still smells faintly of popcorn, and away from the cheerful but chipped circus-striped marquee, the world changed.
Digital files have all but eradicated film. Movie makers produce only a couple hundred prints of large releases and send those copies to high-grossing theaters.
Film’s scarcity forced the Virginia to suspend operations July 31, but now local movie lovers are trying to raise nearly $50,000 to buy a digital system and keep the theater open.
“It’s so sad to see the marquee darkened because it suggests that Main Street is dead. So we are hoping by getting enough money to convert the theater … that will convey the message that North Baltimore is alive and well,” said Ralph Wolfe, chairman of the fund-raising committee and a retired Bowling Green State University film studies professor.
The group recently sent letters to residents and businesses touting the campaign, which runs through Nov. 21. Donors’ checks will be returned if the effort falls short of the needed amount. Any purchased equipment will stay permanently with the theater building, said Doug Wickard, who took over operation of the movie house in 2012 from his son.
Similar efforts to preserve small-town theaters have occurred across the country and state, wherever the venues are prized for sparking spending and adding vitality to downtowns.
“There are a number of communities that have worked to save these theaters that have realized how important they are to the community,” said Jeff Siegler, director of revitalization for the historic preservation organization Heritage Ohio.
Some theaters have tried online crowdfunding or tapping community support to pay for the digital conversion, which costs about $70,000 per movie screen, said Patrick Corcoran, spokesman for the National Association of Theatre Owners.
The association estimated 88 percent of the nation’s 5,840 theaters have abandoned film so far. Studios eager to save money pushed the shift, and the pace picked up in 2009 as movies such as Avatar showcased digital’s potential.
The effort to convert the big Toledo-area multiplexes, now owned by Cinemark, gathered momentum in 2010. Downtown theaters in Fremont, Maumee, Bryan, Bluffton, Ada, and Kenton have gone digital too, as did several northwest Ohio drive-ins last year. That leaves the Virginia among the last movie venues in the region to convert or close.
Many of the theaters that haven’t switched are smaller, independent movie houses that can’t afford to buy equipment. For at least one that did, the challenges didn’t end with the digital upgrade.
If he had a choice, Mr. Wickard would stick with film. He gets film. He’s used to hoisting the heavy reels and splicing 10,000 feet of film together to build one seamless feature-length movie plus previews. He easily traces the film’s route around the projection booth, where it threads across the ceiling and down through the projector. He knows how to fix a glitch on the fly.
“This is a 1964 projector. It’s got a transmission drive; they’re sort of simple to work on. The new stuff’s all high-tech, whatever,” he said.
Digital movies will be programmed from a laptop in advance to start at showtime. It’s simple, he’s been promised. But it’s also a big change for a guy who jokes he’s more comfortable with an Etch A Sketch than a computer.
Mr. Wickard, 56, was just a kid when he first scaled the turning steps at the back of the Virginia to the projection booth. At the time, the theater used a two-projector system to show a single movie. The projectionist swung back and forth between the two machines, firing up one as the other wound down.
The hot, action-packed work required constant vigilance. A toilet and a sink were crammed into the booth so the projectionist didn’t have to leave his post during a screening. A gofer brought him pop and popcorn. For a couple years in the late 1960s, Mr. Wickard ran up and down the stairs with requested items and cleaned up afterwards.
During his first shift, he scrawled his name, Doug Wicky, and the date, Dec. 16, 1967, on a door where other employees also left their mark. The door is no longer in use, but it’s sentimentally stashed for safekeeping behind black curtains at the front of the house.
Like Mr. Wickard, Mr. Wolfe, 83, of North Baltimore has a long and personal attachment to the theater. He began going to movies at the Virginia when it opened. His visits multiplied in 1943 when his freckled, red-haired father opened Red’s Restaurant above the theater.
“I could see every movie that came to town,” he said.
That meant plenty of time with film favorites Bette Davis, Tyrone Power, and Clark Gable. He risked his father’s admonition, and received a boot in the rear end, when he sneaked into the theater to see Gone with the Wind instead of taking the school bus home as ordered.
“Oh, it was worth it,” Mr. Wolfe said.
The Virginia has been shuttered before at various times, including in 1959 when the first owner closed it. More ownership and name changes would follow. In 2009, Mr. Wickard’s son, Jayson Wickard, reopened the theater as Virginia Motion Pictures after a roughly one-year closure.
Movie buffs hope the current campaign can resurrect it once again. Mr. Wolfe said he’s already secured a pledge from Academy Award-winning actress Eva Marie Saint, a 1946 graduate of BGSU.
April 2018 the curtain fell for the last time and the Virginia closed for good...