Musings: Long for the days when movies felt like magic

Perched on a red velvet seat in the third mezzanine at Radio City Music Hall, I stare down from what feels like heaven, my 4-year-old belly full of popcorn. It’s my first time at the movies.

The giant silver screen explodes with color. Julie Andrews as Mary Poppins flies over London with her animated umbrella, and Dick Van Dyke tap dances with penguins in bow ties. What magic! I get lost in it and never, ever want to go home. Even the ladies’ room in 1964 looks like a fairyland, adorned with murals and mirrors. Thousands are waiting in line to get in.

Decades later, the same movie — and most others — can be streamed to me on my living room couch. On my laptop, the images are reduced to the size of a serving tray.

I long to see lights dim over parting curtains, an enticing trailer — and a feature so big I can see the actors’ pores. I want to hear the collective gasp when Linda Blair’s head spins in “The Exorcist.” When I watch “Blazing Saddles,” I want my singular laughter to merge with a thunderous roar.

Remnants remain. If there’s a film worth seeing, I’ll look for it at the local multiplex, a once-grand theater now divided into smaller screens. If the movie I seek is there — which is rare — I’ll buy a ticket on my phone. No lines. It’s shown in one of 10 minuscule spaces. I find my place amid rows of sticky plastic seats. Eight people are scattered about. I hear superhero battles bleed through neighboring walls. And to my left, someone responds to a text. I’m distracted. I forget: What is this movie about?

No applause at the end. Only the hum of a vacuum sucking up popcorn as the credits roll.

On occasion in my mind, I go back to Radio City. I climb to the third mezzanine, close my eyes and imagine that I am 4 again. A golden curtain opens; darkness washes over a sea of filled velvet seats. I’m on top of the world. Something wonderful is about to happen.

— Maddy Levi, Long Beach