The Grand Berry Theater
The top movie of 1979 (by both box office receipts and Oscar wins) was “Kramer vs. Kramer.” The film raked in $173 million and took home five Oscars, including Best Picture. The movie, if you haven’t seen it, stars Dustin Hoffman (likely at the peak of his powers) and a young Meryl Streep (still years from the peak of her’s). It’s a family drama that deals with the domestic dispute over the custody of a child, and the majority of the picture takes place in two locations: a New York City apartment and a courtroom. Outside a brief scene of a child falling off a jungle gym, the film has no action sequences but does offer 105 minutes of heady, emotional dialogue.
No, this film was not your typical popcorn fare; in fact, it’s hard to imagine a single kernel of popcorn being consumed during its run time.
Despite the film’s enormous success, it’s not as if the year was vacant of action flicks. With “Rocky II,” “Apocalypse Now,” “Star Trek: The Motion Picture,” “Alien,” and “Moonraker” all premiering in 1979, those looking to get their fill of testosterone-laden content were hardly starving for matinees that would scratch that itch. Nonetheless, a sophisticated family drama out-earned them all.
I bring up “Kramer vs. Kramer” as a contrast to what movies and movie-going looks like in 2022. Such a movie wouldn’t even make it to the big screen — getting stellar reviews and standing ovations at numerous film festivals before going straight to streaming services, instead. It would still rack up the nominations (à la “Marriage Story” in 2019), but high-level studio execs would consider its box office appeal DOA.
Nineteen-seventy-nine was a different time. The movie industry has changed, and those who wish to have a theater experience while watching a smart, bizarre, eclectic, or sophisticated arthouse film has become an exceptionally niche audience. And, as I’ve recently learned, that niche audience does not exist in Fort Worth.
The Grand Berry, what I can only assume is Fort Worth’s first and only arthouse theater, will open its doors and serve its last batch of popcorn this Sunday when they show the 2022 Academy Awards.
I won’t make some broad strokes statement about audience sophistication; there are plenty of smart and sophisticated elements in current blockbuster hits (“Joker” anyone?). So, I won’t blame the Grand Berry’s closing on lack of interest in the films they were showing. The truth is, I don’t know whether to blame its closing on Covid, streaming services, Marvel movies, or an overarching laziness exemplified by the likes of Door Dash. I personally think it’s a victim of all four … combined with some unnecessary need for reclining chairs and a food menu full of mediocre hamburgers and flatbread pizzas.
The Grand Berry Theater, which I know many of you never bothered to attend, was the perfect arthouse theater. Named after Fort Worth’s two old-school — yet unironically shuttered — movie theaters, The Berry and The Grand, the theater was tucked away in the Foundry district behind Tulane’s. It was adorned in a mural by a local artist, served beer and wine, and didn’t have reclining chairs. In fact, it didn’t have chairs at all but, rather, rows of uncomfortable green faux leather couches lacking cupholders. The screen was seemingly half the size of a normal theater’s, and I don’t think the lights ever dimmed all the way down.
What might make a typical moviegoer wince were quirks that I found charming and made for a delightful movie-going experience. Its lack of placating to its attendees mirrored the films it screened — the purpose is to make the viewer think and feel, but not necessarily to feel content and comfortable.
I loved the Grand Berry.
It also helps that I know its owners, husband and wife duo Brooke and Jimmy Sweeney to be stellar people whose love for the cinema remains unmatched by anyone in the entire Metroplex. Throughout the theater’s stint in its warehouse on Weisenberger Street, the pair stayed true to their roots: offering quirky, off-kilter screenings of old favorites and new, insightful films.
I’ve seen some of my favorite movies at the Grand Berry. I’ve seen Oscar-nominees. I’ve seen triumphant Oscar winners. And I’ve seen flicks that never stood a chance at a nomination. But all the films had a common thread — they were made with an earnestness that transcended the screen.
This earnestness, I believe, is shared by all who were involved in this wonderful theater.
Godspeed, Grand Berry.
