Futuristic, Now Past: Farewell to the Cinedome
Once upon a time, when Orange County was more about orange groves and less about urban sprawl, there was an oasis of culture and futuristic architecture out near “the Big A” (that reference alone to the former Anaheim Stadium should date me). Housed in twin, light-festooned domes were the coolest movie theaters anywhere outside Hollywood.
The Century Cinedome, adjacent to another forgotten landmark--the Orange Drive-In--was a creature from the ‘60s. When first built and opened, people traveled from all corners of the county to sit in big, comfortable seats, stare at huge projection screens and listen to the most advanced stereophonic sound system of the time.
Now it’s going the way of the wrecking ball.
Back in the ‘80s, before I became a county expatriate, I used to drive up the Santa Ana Freeway and wonder how long it would be before they’d tear the old place down. Now that they’ve boarded it up, I find myself mourning a bit for a place that was more than just a movie theater. It was a place where images--on the screens and on the theater grounds--were forever seared into my brain, leaving memories that will stay long after the buildings are demolished.
I think, in many ways, the life of the theater complex mirrored the growth and changes that have taken place in Orange County during the last three decades--more so than Anaheim Stadium/Edison International Field, Disneyland or any other man-made landmark in the area.
When the complex first opened in the ‘60s, Orange County was booming. While the region has never stopped, that decade was a heady time to be living in a semirural county. The aerospace industry was king. John F. Kennedy’s promise of man landing on the moon before the end of the decade was still fresh in our minds, and we all knew it was only a matter of time before space travel was going to be commonplace.
The domes, unlike the prefabricated boxes popping up across the plains and hills of Orange County, had a wild, “way-out,” spacey look to them. When you drove by, northbound on the freeway, the outrageous designs of “The Jetsons” didn’t seem so outrageous. For me, there could have been no other theater in which to first experience “2001: A Space Odyssey.”
During the ‘70s, the theater took on a new look. The county, with its ever-expanding population, was more than just a series of bedroom communities serving masters in Los Angeles. Orange County was becoming a place to be reckoned with in every sense, in particular economically. With all that came the malls, the entertainment centers and the many ways denizens could spend their leisure-time dollars. In an effort to capture some portion of the windfall, the folks who owned the Cinedome expanded their theaters. It was like the burgeoning city of Irvine: There was a limited amount of land, but by God they’d pack as many people into it as humanly possible.
As the ‘70s ended and the ‘80s rolled in, the Cinedome remained a cultural and societal landmark in Orange County. Everyone knew where the then-California Angels played baseball. Everyone knew where South Coast Plaza and the Orange Mall were located. And everyone, even if they hadn’t seen a movie there, at least knew where the domes were. Places like the Santa Ana Clubhouse and Skate Ranch, longtime havens for teenagers looking to meet others of the opposite sex or enjoy a cheap date, were already dead or dying.
The Cinedome, which seemed to offer an endless number of theaters under one roof, was also a great place to head to with friends. On any given (dateless) Friday or Saturday night, groups of friends would look for every which way to sneak in. For as many theaters as there were in the complex, there were twice as many backdoors. And if all else failed and you actually paid for a ticket, you were sure to catch at least two more movies (for free) showing elsewhere at what many came to call “Sneak-a-Dome.”
Now, 30 years after it opened its doors, the Cinedome is the victim of change. Its owners, the Century Theatre chain, built another complex nearby that has all the bells and whistles movie audiences expect these days. The Cinedome, which really began showing its age 20 years ago, is now in its death spiral. It’s going the way the orange groves have, the way the Orange County International Raceway did and the way the Tustin and El Toro Marine bases will.
I suspect when the company charged with demolishing the Cinedome finally trucks away the rubble, there won’t be a lot of wailing from most people--even those who have a special place in their heart for the once ultramodern-looking marvel. Like the Cinedome, the flame of Orange County’s existence has been fueled by change.
