Do Twin Drive-In

Mike Rogers on June 15, 2010 at 5:34 pm

Thanks Drive-in mike,for the ad.

jwmovies on October 27, 2016 at 3:18 am

The address for this Drive-in is actually 801 Metairie Rd, Metairie, LA 70005.

Focis was where the exits were located. The box office was on the opposite side of the Drive-in next to the south screen. Delimon Blvd. is the entrance.

Please update.

lonespaceranger on June 29, 2018 at 11:46 pm

Interesting to note that the marquee is the same for this drive in as the Do Drive In located in Mobile. It was owned by Mr. Fesser also.

50sSNIPES on September 4, 2023 at 5:38 pm

One of the three drive-ins in Metairie became statewide headlines on May 9, 1959 following an unexpected death of a 16-year-old boy from asphyxiated carbon monoxide at the site of the drive-in while dating his 15-year-old girlfriend at the time (who was unconscious after being knocked out for several hours by fumes).

Joe Vogel on May 12, 2026 at 11:19 pm

I came across the following item from the May 17, 1961 issue of Motion Picture Exhibitor:

“Mike Ripps, head man in the ownership association of Do Drive-In Theatres in Metairie, La., and Mobile, Ala., and individual owner, under skyer in Biloxi, Miss., who is also an independent film producer, was on an extended journey up north to visit Cincinnati, Detroit, Chicago and other points in the interest of his newest film, ‘White Trash,’ which was partially lensed in the deep south, with finishing touches in Hollywood. Ed Fessler, his partner in the Mobile drive-ins, is associated with him in the making of the film.”

This item caught my eye, as I saw that movie. It was released as “Poor White Trash” sometime in the summer of 1962. The production was four-walled (theaters were rented and guaranteed a certain amount, plus what they could earn from concessions, while the distributor of the film collected the entire box office take.) It was clearly presented as an exploitation flick, with full-page ads in the papers touting a lurid tale of lust among the swamp-dwelling Cajuns of Louisiana. I was sure the movie would be crap, but thought perhaps it would at least have some decent Cajun music for a sound track, and in any case the venue in downtown Los Angeles was the Los Angeles Theatre itself, my favorite downtown palace.

So on opening day I went downtown and bought my ticket for the early show, which was at first busier than the house usually was. The movie was not a disappointment in that it was utterly disappointing, as I’d expected, and worse, didn’t even have the Cajun music I’d hoped for. The cinematography was execrable, the lighting horrible, the sound hopelessly muddy, the acting amateurish, the characters as unpleasant as they were unbelievable, and the script… well, I had a hard time believing there even was one. As for the touted luridness, all I can say is the movie could easily have been marketed as a sure-fire cure for priapism.

But I was happy to forgive all that (sadly not even comical) failure, as the movie gave me an experience I would surly never have had otherwise. I saw my favorite downtown movie palace packed. The audience kept growing as I watched to movie, and soon came to provide an alternate viewing experience much superior to the one I had bought a ticket for. By the time the movie mercifully ended, I looked around the huge space and saw virtually every seat in view taken, almost all of them by men, and every one of them (I am sure) was a true devotee of the cinematic arts.

I could see people in the second balcony, a part of the theater that had never before been open when I was there. Before leaving the theater (it was a single feature, unusual for those days, and there was no way I was staying for a second showing of that poor piece of black and white trash) I made my way up one of the narrow staircases leading to that mystery area, and for the only time got to see that vast, ornate auditorium from the very top. That alone would have been worth the price of admission.

So now I know a bit more about the men responsible for that wretched moving picture. I forgive them. It was going on two thirds of a century ago, and most likely they are dead now, as are most of the audience I shared the experience with, and it won’t be long before I join them (or nobody) in that (probably imaginary) balcony in the sky. Whether the memory will survive or not I can’t say and really don’t care. It’s here now and I got to enjoy it again. And now I think I’ll make some popcorn.