In 1967 or 1968, at age 15, I convinced my big brother to drive me “downtown”, and drop me off at the Janus Theatres, to see “A Man and A Woman”. In that era, my suburban parents had identified the Dupont Circle neighborhood as being ‘a little rough’. While I was free to explore much of the city on my own, Dupont was on their “off limits” list. (This meant that there were either “unsavory characters” or “bohemians” around, which translated as liberal grad students, dope-smokers, or homosexuals — all of which attracted me as a moth to a flame…)
I remember staring at the multicolored glass-tile mural on the buildings exterior, and feeling my heart pound wildly. This was not my average Colonial-style neighborhood theater, and the modern artwork on the outside reminded me that this was a GrownUps Theatre, where people entered to see Serious Films about Thought-provoking Issues, and when they left afterwards, their experience had changed their thinking.
Would this happen to me? Would it show on my face — that my thinking had been changed, because I had experienced a Serious GrownUp movie? Would my parents know that I was Changed Forever — that seeing a mature film had triggered an epiphany — one where I finally knew that I was able to think my own thoughts, outside of the narrow suburban cocoon that they frantically sought to reinforce around their pre-gay teenage son?
I remember buying my ticket with shaking hands, fearful that the disinterested cashier might look up, realize that I was far too young to be seeing such a serious film, and somehow humiliate me in public. (Call the cops? Call my parents to come fetch me, to snatch me from the threat of exposure to Complex French Emotions?)
ONce inside the auditorium, I felt safer. I knew that in the darkened theatre, no one would notice whatever coming-of-age transformation I was about to experience.
And to tell the truth, I did do some growing up while watching the “Too Mature” film at the “Suspiciously-Liberal-and-Modern” theatre in the “off limits” neighborhood. I understood every word of dialogue, and realized that I had underestimated my mastery of French. I ached for the sexy guys in the film, and realized that no one in the audience around me was noticing. I vicariously tasted the complexities of grownup love, and knew that I was hungry to experience such things myself.
I guess you could say that I was one of those people who entered the Janus as one person, and left after the movie with my life changed forever.
In later life, I would still experience a residual burst of adrenaline, every time I walked by, until the day the Janus closed.
So yes, I do have some memories of the twin-screen theatre that was named after a two-headed Roman god.
In 1967 or 1968, at age 15, I convinced my big brother to drive me “downtown”, and drop me off at the Janus Theatres, to see “A Man and A Woman”. In that era, my suburban parents had identified the Dupont Circle neighborhood as being ‘a little rough’. While I was free to explore much of the city on my own, Dupont was on their “off limits” list. (This meant that there were either “unsavory characters” or “bohemians” around, which translated as liberal grad students, dope-smokers, or homosexuals — all of which attracted me as a moth to a flame…)
I remember staring at the multicolored glass-tile mural on the buildings exterior, and feeling my heart pound wildly. This was not my average Colonial-style neighborhood theater, and the modern artwork on the outside reminded me that this was a GrownUps Theatre, where people entered to see Serious Films about Thought-provoking Issues, and when they left afterwards, their experience had changed their thinking.
Would this happen to me? Would it show on my face — that my thinking had been changed, because I had experienced a Serious GrownUp movie? Would my parents know that I was Changed Forever — that seeing a mature film had triggered an epiphany — one where I finally knew that I was able to think my own thoughts, outside of the narrow suburban cocoon that they frantically sought to reinforce around their pre-gay teenage son?
I remember buying my ticket with shaking hands, fearful that the disinterested cashier might look up, realize that I was far too young to be seeing such a serious film, and somehow humiliate me in public. (Call the cops? Call my parents to come fetch me, to snatch me from the threat of exposure to Complex French Emotions?)
ONce inside the auditorium, I felt safer. I knew that in the darkened theatre, no one would notice whatever coming-of-age transformation I was about to experience.
And to tell the truth, I did do some growing up while watching the “Too Mature” film at the “Suspiciously-Liberal-and-Modern” theatre in the “off limits” neighborhood. I understood every word of dialogue, and realized that I had underestimated my mastery of French. I ached for the sexy guys in the film, and realized that no one in the audience around me was noticing. I vicariously tasted the complexities of grownup love, and knew that I was hungry to experience such things myself.
I guess you could say that I was one of those people who entered the Janus as one person, and left after the movie with my life changed forever.
In later life, I would still experience a residual burst of adrenaline, every time I walked by, until the day the Janus closed.
So yes, I do have some memories of the twin-screen theatre that was named after a two-headed Roman god.