Sunday, December 6, 2009
Lost Toronto: The Top Ten Things I Miss the Most, Part 2
Those of you kind enough to have read Part 1 of my "best of lost T.O." article may have noted that three of the five entries were movie theatre–related. Well, brace yourselves if that ain't your cuppa, because I freely admit it: I adore old movie houses, palaces, and nabes (neighbourhood cinemas) and have even been involved with saving one or two from the threat of demolition or, worse, condosization. So here's part deux, again in no particular order, in which, sadly, cinematic locales continue to feature prominently.
6) The Eglinton Theatre. The Eglinton, an Art Deco gem on Eglinton Ave. West near Avenue Road., (now known as the Eglinton Grand, an "event theatre," whatever that is), wrapped up its single-screen life in 2002 with screenings of the Sing-along Sound of Music. Not only did I attend this last hurrah, I'll have you know I won an honourable mention in the costume contest—I wore tan cords and a big beige sweater along with a fluffy tail and antlers; I was, of course, "Do, a Deer." (And yes, I realize does don't have antlers. Sue me.) The Eglinton no longer functions as a single-screen cinema, but the raked floor and all the rest has been preserved should the day ever come when watching movies becomes more lucrative than renting event space. Favourite Eglinton memory: Deer tales notwithstanding, I was grateful to be a member of the neighbourhood group Save the Eglinton, which tried to do its small part to impress upon the building owner that preserving the theatre was an act of cultural heroism for which he would be amply rewarded in his next life. Well, actually, we just donated the money we'd raised for the restoration of one of the original etched mirrors....
7) Eaton's College Street. Another Deco beauty, Eaton's fabulous uptown location, which opened in 1930, succumbed to a new retail reality in 1977, when the Eaton Centre opened just a few blocks south. Through a combination of luck and the support of heritage groups, the superlative seventh floor, home of the the Round Room restaurant and Eaton's Auditorium, where my mother's school choir once performed, and boarded up and left to rot for decades, reopened in 2003 as the Carlu event space, and is once again host to the creme de la creme of city society. Favourite Eaton's College St. memory: Making a special trip up to T.O. to visit the store one last time before it closed, when I bought an Eaton's facecloth (big spender, I know) and rode the noisy but cool old escalators with the wooden treads.
8) Maple Leaf Gardens. The Gardens is still standing, thank god, but is currently empty, left to molder like so many cultural treasures before it, its future uncertain except as a movie and TV set. When I first moved to Toronto, I lived in a high rise right behind it, and enjoyed the thrill of proximity to a legend. Though no one would ever accuse me of being a hockey fan in any form, I will admit to a purely exhilarating experience when my parents took me to a live Leafs game as a kid; the scrape and spray of the skates carving the ice, the sting of the cold, the explosive crack! of the slapshots, and the brilliant colours of the jerseys left me breathless. Favourite Gardens memory: A sweaty midsummer Elton John concert in the early 80s (one of his four or five “farewell tours”), when our seats were in the gods and the packed crowd was so amped that every man jack of us left that arena screamed hoarse.
Update: The day after this article was posted, it was announced that Loblaws and Ryerson University plan to share the Gardens in an innovative commercial-athletic configuration that will, at least, preserve the exterior and the existing ice surface.
9) Metro International Caravan. Where did this summer stalwart go? After 35 years, it seems to have slipped away quietly in the night. When Leon and Zena Kossar first proposed this annual festival of “multiculturalism,” as we used to call diversity (maybe someday we’ll just call it….nothing at all!), Toronto's many ethnic groups rarely rubbed shoulders. But with Caravan passports clutched in our sweaty fists, each year my friends and I tried to see more spectacles, eat more "weird" foods, and get more henna tattoos than the year before. My Caravanning rules were quite strict (read: anal-retentive): to count, a visit to a Caravan pavilion had to include witnessing a full show, viewing the exhibits, and partaking in some unfamiliar cuisine. I am proud to say that in my last year, I managed to collect passport stamps from 27 of the 30-odd pavilions. Ironically, as former mayor David Crombie stated at the time, by the time the Athens pavilion served that final plate of spanakopita in 2004, Toronto had simply become its own giant version of Caravan, no passport required. Favourite Caravan memory: The lovely and amazing candle dancers of the Manila pavilion on Millwood Road.
10) The Carlton Cinemas. For this final entry, I beg your indulgence, as it's not yet actually lost. However, the haven for alternative, arty, foreign, documentary and other out-there forms of cinematic expression is scheduled to shutter its doors on December 6th. Though these tiny boxes are now equivalent to the home theatres in many 'burban rec rooms, for the last three decades they’ve provided a venue for the movies no one frequenting the Colossus will ever hear of, and that was a good thing. Favourite Carlton memory: There isn't just one; however, I will miss pretending I have my own screening room when I'm sharing the place with only one or two others—or no one at all—as well as feeling I'm at one of those hipster New York City art-house cinemas. In the coming week, I will be observing my customary habit of making a final pilgrimage to the Carlton, my former neighbour and friend, and the most recent Toronto theatre to face the executioner, to say my latest goodbye.
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