Old movie palaces made me feel like a king

I miss going to the movies. From a young age, I looked forward to excursions to theaters like the Meadowbrook Theatre on Hempstead Turnpike in Levittown, the kind of movie house that does not exist much anymore.

My brother Josh and I, along with friends, generally found a line snaking around the building. We’d wonder if we would be among the lucky ones who’d get in to see the show. The movies of the 1950s that attracted us tended to be cheesy affairs with special effects that made little effort to hide their strings and rear-screen projections. But they still beat a day of playing stickball on Booth Lane in Levittown.

With the 1950s came the miracle of Cinerama. This process used three projectors to create a massive picture on a curved screen, albeit one where you could see where the images met. Our teachers at Bowling Green Elementary School in East Meadow took us on field trips to the Syosset Theater, reminiscent of the grand New York City movie palaces, to see the re-release of the 1952 documentary “This Is Cinerama.” I remember the audience’s gasps when the screen expanded from the traditional size to the three-screen effect. The wonder of it all!

My love of movies has never waned. I always wanted to be the first one to see “Planet of the Apes” and anything directed by Steven Spielberg. At a screening of “Close Encounters of the Third Kind” at the Ziegfeld Theatre in Manhattan — the last of the great city movie palaces — I stood with the rest of the audience and applauded when the mother ship rose majestically behind Devils Tower National Monument in Wyoming.

My father and I watched “The Godfather” several times in theaters. We loved every moment, endlessly bouncing the movie’s dialogue off each other, bringing us together in the special way that only great works of popular culture can.

Of course, my children always knew that Dad would take them to see the latest science fiction / superhero / inappropriate comedy film. My youngest child would shock everyone within earshot by quoting lines from the likes of the “Austin Powers” and “Ace Ventura” series. His grandparents didn’t find the dialogue as amusing as we did.

The experience of sitting in a small screening room at a multiplex with stadium seating doesn’t do it for me. Of course, I collect all my favorites on high-definition DVDs so I can watch the most pristine images possible on my 65-inch 4K TV. Yes, I know that every movie ever made can be streamed, but physical media puts me as close to the theatrical experience as I can get in my home.

My streaming services offer a steady supply of convoluted, overlong drivel representing the visions of “auteurs” who get overindulged by executives throwing huge sums of money at them without constraints. As a fan of Harlan Coben, I rejoiced when he signed deals with Netflix for miniseries based on his novels. When I found that it took more time to watch the televised versions than it did to read the books, I gave up on them.

I rarely go to the movies anymore nor do I watch much television, and I feel like I’ve lost a cherished part of my life. Now I spend my free time rediscovering the joy of reading and writing essays like this one. Maybe I don’t miss the movies after all.

Reader Michael Cohen lives in Brightwaters.