My friends and I had committed to saving our local movie theater.
The idea was simple: instead of selling tickets, we’d sell subscriptions. If enough people signed up, we’d reopen.
It was a crazy, all-or-nothing plan, but the alternative was letting a piece of our town die. We had 30 days to hit 3,000 subscribers. We had no idea what we were in for.
The Marketing Blitz
We needed to get the word out, and fast. This couldn’t be a normal marketing campaign; it had to be a community-wide event. The local newspaper, who wanted the theater back as much as we did, ran a cover story announcing a mysterious plan to save the theater was coming. We created a Facebook group that blew up with support.
Then we went all-in. I used the money from selling my car to fund a direct mail campaign to every single house in the area. We set up tables with iPads at the entrances of the two local grocery stores, staffed by volunteers. We even had people dress up as movie characters and stand on street corners with “Save the Theater” signs. On the 30th day, with a reporter from the LA Times watching, we hit our 3,000-subscriber goal. We had done it. Or so we thought.
A Call From Hollywood
The LA Times ran a story on our success, and that’s when the real trouble started. The article caught the attention of an executive at Sony Pictures who tracked me down. What we didn’t know was that their master license agreement, which all theaters sign, had a clause that explicitly disallowed subscriptions. She called to inform me that we had not saved our theater, because they—and by extension, the rest of the industry—would not provide us with movies.
We were crushed. I had put my life savings into this and maxed out a credit card. It felt like we had run a marathon only to hit a brick wall at the finish line. We had told everyone we saved the theater, but we were blocked. One studio, Warner Brothers, “freaked out” that we were doing subscriptions and pulled all their movies from our other locations. It was a complete disaster.
Finding a Way Forward
After getting a hard “no” from every studio we called, we felt stuck. But we found a lifeline. The film booker for the theater’s previous owners, who had initially told me she wouldn’t touch our idea “with a 10-foot pole,” gave us one piece of advice: call her uncle, Joe Carrady, a beloved and retired industry veteran.
Joe understood what we were trying to do. He used his connections to get us meetings with the heads of the studios. This time, they listened. With Joe vouching for us, we managed to convince three major studios—Universal, Paramount, and Disney—to come on board for a trial. The theater was officially saved.
Conclusion
That rollercoaster—from hometown heroes to being blocked by Hollywood, all within a matter of weeks—was one of the most intense learning experiences of my life. It taught me that a great idea is only the first step; navigating the realities of a legacy industry is where the real work begins.
With the theater saved (for real this time), we quickly discovered that our biggest problems were just getting started. The outdated technology holding the entire industry back would become our next, and greatest, challenge.
Thanks for reading. Follow me on Instagram, LinkedIn, or Patron View for more.