A Night at the Movies

Moscow's long-suffering moviegoers glowed vindictively: the managers of the city's neighborhood moviehouses were at last writhing under the official knout. Five first-string reporters from Evening Moscow made a swooping inspection of the theaters, pronounced them dirty, cold, ill-operated and "on a very low cultural level."

There are some 50 moviehouses in Moscow, of which ten are magnificent showplaces chiefly reserved for the Soviet elite. The ordinary Muscovite rarely sees these first-run houses from the inside; to him, a night at the neighborhood movies is far from magnificent.

No Popcorn. If the picture of his choice is a hit, the Moscow moviegoer must buy his tickets at least a week in advance--several weeks for a Sunday show. If he wants to avoid such long-range planning, he can buy tickets from teen-age scalpers who hang around the theaters.

The moviegoer who has finally laid his hands on a ticket goes to the theater at least an hour ahead of showtime and waits in a small side-room where a two-or three-piece band plays for dancing. At a buffet counter he can buy tea, Sitro (lemon pop) and buterbrody (sandwiches)--but no popcorn. There are racks of newspapers and magazines, shelves of books The walls are lined with photo exhibits Instead of the dance band, the smallest theaters offer only a radio.

When it is finally time for the movie itself, customers are shown to their seats by usherettes. (Occasionally the house managers show the zaniness of their U.S counterparts: when the supercolossal Battleship Potemkin was showing in Moscow the usherettes were dressed as sailors.) Moviegoers sit on unpadded wooden chairs. In the winter the little theaters have some heat, little or no fresh air, great many lice.

No Time to Talk. Evening Moscow's "brigade" of reporters singled out the Express, on Flower Boulevard, for the brunt of their criticism. "The projection hall is in a very pitiful state," they wrote. "The walls are peeling and dirty, the chairs are broken. The customers have to sit in the dark before the show starts. Those who sit in the last rows get frozen, because the exit into the street is just behind them. The screen cannot be seen well from the last rows. When the customers complain, the manager explains: 'You cannot see if you are small and the man in front of you is tall.' "

Things are just as bad at the Molot [Hammer], on Rusakov Street: "There are piles of dirt in the corners. For four years the same [photo] exhibit has been shown. Regular customers at the Molot know that exhibit by heart. The newspapers in the reading room are a year old." Moviegoers may write their gripes in a Complaints Register, but it does not do much good. Reported Evening Moscow's crusading newsmen: "Once a patron asked a question. Mme. Nosovaya, the cashier, refused to answer him. The manager entered in the book: 'The cashier was too busy; she had no time to talk.' "

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