A BEAUTY RESTORED

A BEAUTY RESTORED

Which again reminds me that we have to go see a movie at the Balboa soon!

A BEAUTY RESTORED
Delfin Vigil

Sunday, January 9, 2005


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If missing a finger is more serious to you than missing a telephone call, then don't even think about using your cell phone the next time you catch a movie at the new and much improved Balboa Theater in San Francisco.

"We have created ... Cell-Self-Destructo," says the theater's owner, Gary Meyer, in a dramatic, am-I-scaring-you-yet? tone of voice. "See, if you use your cell phone during a film, your phone will self-destruct. It will explode in your hand."

Meyer, who looks a little too much like Mr. Keaton from "Family Ties" to actually scare anyone, has on display in the Balboa lobby the remains of Cell- Self-Destructo's first victim (June 18, 2002, during a screening of "Amelie").

"Well. It won't really explode in your hand," Meyer says in a humble disclaimer. "It's just psychological. Roger Paul, our general manager, blew up a phone with some firecrackers and stuck a rubber finger in there. Anyway, I think it's kind of scary. And it seems to work."

Annoying cell phone problem solved.

That's just one example from a long list of improvements and renovations that cinema savior Meyer and his sidekick Paul have made since resurrecting the Richmond District theater four years ago.

"The Balboa wasn't just dying from competition from the Metreon," says Meyer, who in 2000 was asked by descendants of the Balboa Theater's founder, Samuel Levin, to take over the operation. "It was literally falling apart."

After a fire gutted the single-screen auditorium in the 1970s, the Balboa Theater was turned into a twin, but it continued a steady decline from its glamorous days when "going to the show" was a big deal in the neighborhood.

The roof leaked. The hot dog grills were gross. The floors were sticky. And the movies were often lame.

Before Meyer took over the Balboa, he conducted informal surveys in the theater's lobby and found that about 60 percent of the moviegoers were loyal customers from the neighborhood. The rest came from throughout the Bay Area for nostalgic reasons, or simply to see a particular film that wasn't showing anywhere else.

Once neighbors realized how serious Meyer was about fixing up the Balboa, they responded with even more loyalty.

Professional painters from the neighborhood helped restore the theater's original burgundy, mustard and blue color scheme. Sloat Nursery donated a fountain for the garden near the front window.

Now Meyer can hardly walk into a neighborhood restaurant without getting a high five.

Meyer's career in the film business began at age 12 in rural Napa, where he used an 8mm projector to show movies to friends in the hayloft of his family's barn. When he was 15, the local library gave him a 16mm projector -- as well as a position on its film commission.

"My big hits were all-night theaters where I'd screen movies from 7 p.m. until noon the next day," says Meyer, who studied film at San Francisco State, partly to avoid having to live in Los Angeles. "I'd get about 100 people to show up. Some would bring sleeping bags and set their alarm clocks for 2 a.m. to catch 'Invaders From Mars.' "

Attendance and popularity grew once he convinced the editors at the Napa Valley Register that he wasn't throwing dope-smoking parties.

What Meyer learned from those early days, and later as the founder of Landmark Theatres, is that going to the movies should include a showbiz atmosphere.

At the Balboa, he and Paul replaced the antiquated hot dog grill with a new microwave oven, and vanquished the mystery-meat hot dogs for Hebrew National franks and veggie dogs. They upgraded the brand of popcorn they were selling and changed the oil to healthier and tastier sesame. They serve Cafe Trieste coffee because it's their favorite cup in town. Toblerone chocolate is their biggest seller.

Some of these changes were possible because Meyer learned not to get locked into the sort of stiff contracts with candy retailers that many theaters find themselves stuck with.

Ever wonder why candy prices are so outrageous in theaters? Because, according to Meyer, back in the day when a movie theater company needed a loan, banks often wouldn't take them seriously enough to do business. So candy retailers would step in with loans, resulting in higher prices at the counter.

"But we're like Trader Joe's," says Paul, who studied film in New York. "We sell it because we like it."

Meyer's plans for the Balboa include everything from possibly transforming the theater into an "atmospheric," with painted stars twinkling in the ceiling next to restored chandeliers, to hiring a neighborhood teen to wear a tie, open doors for customers and carry a flashlight for the full-on usher experience.

"Every time I step through the auditorium and suddenly the lights go down it's always a thrill for me," Paul says, wiping sweat from his forehead after climbing through one of the ceiling vents to fix a leak in the roof.

"And when I'm up here in the projectionist booth, I know that with just a push of a button I'm giving everyone in that audience a good jolt. It feels great."

E-mail Delfin Vigil at dvigil@sfchronicle. com.