Elaina Erola talks about the Eureka Theater’s long history, fading glory, and desperate need for recovery efforts.
The first time I stepped into her I fell in love. She wasn’t even open to the public at that point and had only been operating as a nonprofit for about 10 years. Her bones were sagging and exhausted. Various states of disrepair dotted her everywhere I looked. Here, her color was worn. Here, her seats were falling apart. Her bright blood-red carpeting speckled with little purple Art Deco horses was trampled by thousands of footsteps, yet those horses refused to get down off of their two hind legs. Her charm was undeniable, no matter how much time had tried to steal it from her.
Known simply as “the Eureka Theater,” the old movie house rears up in the center of the downtown arts district in Eureka, California. She is a gorgeous and perfect example of classic Streamline Moderne architecture from 1939, and all her rounded edges, smooth curves, and warm corners make her feel like a grandmother you want to pull close, maternal and wise with age. She has had a long, rough history, and while other towns across America are popping up with successfully restored theaters, she patiently tries to do the city proud with what little can be provided to her.
The journey between my first steps inside of her and my role in her future was long and arduous. While I was graduating college, then working a full-time job, interning and eventually applying to law school, she was transitioning into a nonprofit, recruiting board members, and getting her mortgage paid off. We grew parallel to each other, but it wasn’t until 2019 that I really got to invest my efforts and time into a relationship with her. Like all relationships, we were cautious of each other at the start.
I sent Jon in first, like a canary in a coal mine. Film was his life, his work, and his passion, so I suggested he spend some time volunteering at the theater. We had always wanted to see films there, but on a limited income, we couldn’t spend much money. By volunteering, we could have a little movie date night at no cost to us.
The Eureka Theater is what is known as a repertory theater, which means it only shows older films. Not second-run, but films dug out of the vaults of yesteryear. While Jon started volunteering to see the older classics, I enjoyed my Friday nights with him being out of the house for a couple of hours. I used that time to study or paint, and he would come home gushing with stories about the people he met there and the very obscure films he got to talk to them about.
Then in the spring, I turned in all of my assignments for the year, and I had a small break before midterms. Jon took me on our first movie date. It wasn’t fancy, and the film was an 80s cult classic, but I felt a surge of pride when he handed over the movie vouchers he had earned after volunteering for two films so that he could sit next to me, and I could drink red wine out of a plastic cup.
After the screening, Jon showed me where he poured beer and wine for the patrons or popped popcorn behind the concessions stand. He showed me all the little hidden rooms in the theater and the balcony area that was now off-limits to the public because of an out-of-code fire escape. He introduced me to the people he volunteered with and the board members who could usually be counted on to do some hard work with the lackeys every week. From that moment on, I was completely hooked.
I didn’t ask or apply to volunteer — I just started showing up with Jon every week, after he said he would appreciate my knowledge with the wine at the wine bar, never knowing how to answer questions about which wine had a sweeter taste, which had a lighter body, the chardonnay or sauvignon. By summer, I was there every week happily displaying all our reds and whites and talking up the patrons, encouraging them to buy another glass. By that time, I knew what I wanted. I wanted to see the theater fully restored.
The community had been struggling with this for 20 years at this point, having formed the nonprofit in 2000. I didn’t know what made me feel like I could succeed where they had failed, but I knew I wanted to try. I started by taking a grant-writing class that spring, preparing to hunt down and compose the perfect grant narrative for my theater. I hoarded books on grant writing, collected successful grants, and scanned through directories with all my spare time, waiting for the perfect chance.
In the summer of 2019, I was approached by a board member, Michael, with whom Jon and I had grown very close. Michael wanted to let us know that it was time for him to transition out of his current role. As excited as I was to hear that a board member’s seat would be opening up, I was heartbroken that it was Michael’s. Working with Michael was one of the conditions I immediately loved about the theater. Whereas I was high-functioning, high-energy, and had an insatiable appetite for success, Michael was a calm, gentle person who was always there to lend a hand and make sure there was follow-through. Librarian by day, he had the soft personality type that was never threatening and always so helpful. I was learning so much from watching him and terrified to have to do it on my own.
Besides that, Jon and Michael had grown close. Jon had very few people with whom he connected on a deep level in regard to cinema and literature, but I felt like he had found a true friend with Michael. For the first time, we had both found a community. My wish then, as is my wish now, is that we can all stay close, regardless. Michael told us about all the duties he took on at the theater. It was everything from finding sponsorship to licensing the films to printing posters to running the movie committee to weekly onstage announcements to actually projecting the film. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why he was finally stepping back after eight years of dedication.
Like dozens of young, eager volunteers before me, I was ready to throw everything I had into this. I thought I could take on all of it, plus organizing an event and the grant writing on top of that. I trained as a projectionist. It was something manageable I could do, stepping from behind the bar and into the room built into the highest point of the auditorium, where dozens of little squares had been carved into the black painted wall, poking out from seemingly random points, leftover from 80 years of remodeling and restoration. Jon also trained to learn projection, and we found that we both really enjoyed it. There was something reassuring about being the projectionist. It was like the all-great and powerful Oz behind the curtain, but all anyone saw was the show.
In August, Jon and I joined the Movie Committee so we could help decide the upcoming film schedule. Once the movies were scheduled, we were responsible for duties such as getting posters printed and the social media events posted, finding sponsors, and coordinating volunteers. As we were a falling down, 80-year-old, spooky, antiquated building, our favorite month at the theater was October. Horror movies filled every available spot on our calendar that month, and at the adjournment of our meeting, I felt so proud that I pushed back my chair with a new feeling of accomplishment.
And then Jon pointed out the obvious: we weren’t going to do a movie for Halloween? Halloween that year was on a Thursday, a day we didn’t normally show movies, but it was still a great opportunity. In retrospect, it was a lot to take on. Shortly after that meeting, Jon left town on business for nine weeks, so he never got to see the results of his well-intentioned suggestion. The winning vote was a Halloween showing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show with a live shadowcast and a VIP seating area. I also had a grant application that was due October 31st, but I knew that if I could pull off both, I had a better shot of joining the board and a shot being able to focus my energy into a renaissance for that beautiful theater.
Getting involved with Rocky Horror broke me open. It’s not just a movie and it’s not just a theater production — it’s a cult you join immediately. My big confession to you is that I wasn’t really that big of a fan of the movie until it was a part of my life. I reached out to former cast members, potential directors, board members who could help, volunteers who were interested, and friends who adored the show, and I was met by an overwhelming outpouring of enthusiasm. The community wanted this, and the theater wanted this, and that’s all I needed to hear to dump my heart and soul into it.
The event for Halloween was the most money the theater had made for a single showing that anyone could remember. The grant was written and submitted successfully, and even though I am still recovering from the month of October, I am happy to say that I have been invited to join the board and that I have been asked to take over the event annually. The acquisition of keys to the building feels exactly like any new relationship. I keep finding more and more rooms in her. I find posters from events that were organized by nonprofits that don’t even exist anymore. I find out more about her family. I learn more about her history. I fall more and more in love with her every day.
Banner image: Photo by Rex Mandel, used under a Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International license. Photo was cropped.
