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It’s 8:30 p.m. on Friday the thirteenth in the lobby of University Mall Theatres, the second-run theater across from George Mason University in Fairfax, Virginia. During the break between the sevens and the nines, two Jedi warriors are locked in a fierce battle with plastic light sabers. While they both seem to be intent on striking a kill or lopping off an arm, neither looks very intimidating. Like most of the spectators watching from the safety of the concession stand, they are wearing jeans, button-down shirts, ties, and aprons bearing the insignia of University Mall Theatres. The only thing that crosses the boundary of normal is the pair of horns on the top of one fighter’s head, and the delicately pointed elf ears protruding from under the hair of the other. UMT employees try out the Groucho Marx glasses included in a “Kid Pack” concessions deal. Photo: Meg Nicholas Apart from the “authentic” noises the light sabers make as they clash against each other, there is little noise. Occasionally, a shout of exuberance or a grunt of pain will rise when a hit is scored or when the plastic blades strike a sensitive area. Finally, the elf-eared combatant gets hit in the arm, and the horned warrior moves in for the kill. The fight is over, punctuated by an elaborate death scene from the vanquished knight. The duel complete, both warriors collapse their swords and move behind the ticket counter to help a customer. Each week the whole affair becomes more and more involved. Today’s addition is the prosthetics, worn by several employees. “Soon we’ll have special effects and stunts,” one worker predicts. Maggie, the victor of the most recent bout, is one of the theater’s principal Jedi knights and unofficial caretaker of the weapons. Every Thursday and Friday she hauls five light sabers into work in a plastic bag. There are two blue light sabers, replicas of Anakin Skywalker’s from Episode II. There is a long green one—Maggie’s weapon of choice—like the one that belonged to Obi Wan Kenobi. Count Dooku’s red saber with the curved handle is present, as is a smaller green saber modeled after the one Yoda carries. Apart from Yoda’s miniscule weapon, which is rarely used in battle, all of the light sabers are showing signs of wear. Silver paint from the handles streak the blades, several of which appear to have developed welts. Some of the swords belong to Maggie’s younger brother. The rest she bought for herself. Maggie has the most battle experience. “Last night we went in theater two with all the lights off, and I was walking across the chairs trying not to get killed by Greg,” she says. Although she acquitted herself well in last night’s fight, not everyone who participates in the impromptu battles is as hard-core as she is. “Patrick just likes to make the noises,” Maggie complains. “He doesn’t really fight. One of the other girls and I will actually fight.” “That’s just because I’m not out for blood,” he retorts. “You guys act like you’re going to kill each other.” Employees regularly draw comics featuring the theater’s owner. Comic: Greg McCarty There is a deep bond between the employees that goes beyond the hours they spend together on shift. When Dan, the general manager of the theater, got married three years ago, the entire staff was invited. Not all of them got to attend—someone had to stay behind to run the theater—but the ones who did carpooled and went as one another’s dates. The workers attend Renaissance fairs, powwows, highland festivals, the owner’s basketball games, movie screenings, and even funerals together. When asked if they ever “burn out” after seeing each other too often, Maggie shakes her head. “We don’t have that problem. We’re like a family.” This behavior has, so far, proven unique to this location. Several of the employees at UMT have worked at other theaters in the area. When asked, each of them remarks that they found the social aspect lacking at other locations. According to Melanie, whose college roommate used to work at one such theater, “They hate each other. They avoid each other a great deal.” In addition, there are few opportunities at other theaters to engage in any work other than cleaning and selling tickets and concessions. Unlike the employees at UMT, who are encouraged to tackle diverse tasks, the staff members at the larger chain theaters are assigned specific jobs each day. This ensures that there is always an employee on duty in every area of the theater, but it also means that the employees do not have the opportunity to socialize with each other very often. Socializing unquestionably improves the atmosphere of the theater for the moviegoers, as well as for the employees. Rather than rushing from tickets to concessions and then on to their seats, patrons at the theater relax and often join employees in their banter. Putting the customers at ease has an added advantage when the projection equipment breaks down. Mark O’Meara, the man who owns University Mall Theatres, takes particular pride in the record of one worker, who managed to keep an entire audience in a theater entertained for half an hour while others were up in the booth trying to start the movie. There is no break room at UMT, so much of the workers’ socializing takes place in the lobby among customers. Often the customers become part of the UMT family. Over the years, several regular customers have become close friends of the owner and employees. This has contributed to Mark’s goal to build a community around his business. Instead of just being a place where people come to spend their money, the theater is a makeshift town hall. Originally purchased as a Halloween decoration, this gargoyle plaque now stands guard year-round at the projection booth door. Photo: Meg Nicholas The quirky camaraderie enjoyed at University Mall Theatres doesn’t extend to the other two theaters run by Mark O’Meara. Keen, Meghan, and Dan have all worked at Mark’s theater in Manassas, and Rachel recently began filling some shifts at Cinema Arts just down the street. One of Keen’s constant complaints is how boring and quiet things would get at his other job. No one spoke to each other or ever got together to do things outside of work, as they so frequently do at University Mall Theatres. The differences between the workforces at these three theaters are clearest at the annual brunch meeting that Mark holds to thank his employees for their dedication. The meeting is held around nine in the morning at a restaurant located in University Mall, just upstairs from UMT. Although attendance isn’t mandatory, the turnout is sizable, likely owing to the free food that is provided. There are no seating assignments, but every year the three theaters take over separate tables. Not surprisingly, the UMT table is the loudest. The employees are raucous and jolly, joking among themselves and with the boss, who sits at their table with his family. Despite their propensity for mock battles, limericks, and loud antics in public areas, most of the regular, long-term employees are well-spoken and well-educated. The weekend shifts are filled with high school– age workers, but the day-to-day business is handled primarily by college students and recent graduates, few of whom studied “practical” things in college. Though not by design, the owner of University Mall Theatres has managed to compile a workforce that is peopled, predominantly, by individuals with a background in the arts. Patrick, Greg, and Dan all majored in English. Maggie is a photographer. Melanie holds a degree in anthropology, with a minor in theater. David has recently been accepted into the music program at George Mason University. Zatch returns each summer from New York, where he studies theater at NYU. Musicians, artists, writers, actors—they have all been drawn to work at this lively second-run theater in the middle of a college town. According to the employees, their involvement in the arts had very little impact on their decision to seek work at this theater. Chris and David’s desire to work at UMT stemmed from the practicality of learning more about the movie theater business. They both hope to open their own independent theaters later in life. For Andy, it was simply a matter of necessity. “I had been in Fairfax for two weeks, and I said to myself, I need a job.” When the theater’s pet sea monkey Jacques died, the employees held a funeral and set up a memorial wall with hand-drawn comics. Comic: Margaret Cogan Although most of the staff members do not consciously draw a connection between their choice to work at a movie theater and their own creative endeavors, each of these workers brings their art to the work environment. Hand-drawn comics cover the sides of the freezer and coffee machine. On top of the refrigerator, there is a folder holding an eighty-page novella written by an employee; many UMT employees appear in the piece as main characters. Two of the employees have formed their own small costume business. Songs and snippets of dialogue from musicals and movies are constantly being sung or quoted in the lobby. Working at the theater, these staff members are constantly immersed in the world of popular culture. They read industry magazines for information on upcoming films; attend film, anime, and comic conventions; and—although some express a certain degree of embarrassment about it—frequently purchase gossip magazines at the grocery store. “Everything we see, everything we read, we put into what we say and do, how we act,” Maggie explains. One of the employees laughs when she recalls her father’s reaction when she started working at the theater: “He kept going around telling people I was in the entertainment industry, like I was working with Spielberg, instead of just projecting his films.” The employees arrange themselves in a circle behind the counter to talk, and it seems the battles are over for the night. Eventually the discussion turns to one of the employees’ favorite subjects: comparing the theater to famous literary and film epics. This time it is J. R. R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings. “Greg compared the theater to the one ring,” Patrick explains. “It fits, too, because everyone who comes in contact with it is corrupted. That’s why no one can ever leave here. It’s like a black hole. I’m Frodo, and Greg is Samwise, because it’s tainted us both so much. Mark, the owner, is Sauron. Dan is Gollum.” Patrick does an impression of Dan finding popcorn on the floor. “No! The precious!” Maggie, as it turns out, is Aragorn, and it is clear that she has the chutzpah to pull off the part. To those who know her well, her current warrior status is nothing strange. Before she came to northern Virginia, she lived on a homestead in Alaska, a place characterized by extreme winters and hard work. Everything about Maggie is Alaskan. She even stands like an Alaskan: sturdy and prepared. Furthermore, Maggie doesn’t pull punches. When she hits you, she really hits you, and she doesn’t mind (too much) if you hit back. Her nose is just slightly crooked from being broken twice when she was younger. It was never professionally set. Her hair, which has its own protean identity, is currently a reddish brown, and she wears it pulled back into a ponytail. Her ears are studded with five piercings. She sports three tattoos, and she wants more. For Maggie, the theater provides a place where she can “show [her] emotions a little more over the top than anywhere else.” She is admittedly closemouthed about her emotions outside of the theater. As she puts it, “I grew up in a house with a bunch of men, where emotions and what you were feeling just weren’t talked about.” She also suffers from stage fright. At the theater, however, she comfortably slips into “playing a part for the customers.” The pop culture play that the employees engage in allows her to address issues that might be more of an obstacle at another job. Surrounded and nurtured by friends from work, she has even been coaxed into singing in public. Patrick, ironically, is the antithesis of Frodo, at least in appearance. The general consensus at UMT is that he more closely resembles an elf. This idea is supported by the fact that, tonight, Patrick is wearing Maggie’s second pair of ear prosthetics. At 27, he is the oldest employee at the theater, apart from the general manager. He wears his hair in a fourteen-inch ponytail down his back during work, stands about a head taller than most of the other employees, and is rail thin. His lanky walk is reminiscent of a biker’s strut, and he looks as if he would be at home on a motorcycle. Instead, he drives a secondhand Toyota with a huge, deer-shaped dent in the passenger’s side door. His face frequently breaks out in a grin that would put Steven Tyler to shame. When he laughs hard—which is quite often—the grin gets bigger and his body shakes, but he doesn’t make any noise. Even his closest friends often forget that, at one time, he worked as a model. “Washington Mark,” a caricature of UMT’s owner. Comic: Greg McCarty When a question arises as to which character a particular employee is supposed to be, the rest of the employees turn to Patrick. “Go get the list,” Maggie tells him. The list is part of a stack of paper, now an inch thick, referred to as “the Bible.” The Bible consists of dirty limericks, lyrics to parody songs written by employees, and cartoons depicting upper management in compromising situations, all written on the back of used movie time schedules. Each time a new contribution is made it is handed to Patrick, who then stores it in a pocket of his backpack for safekeeping. As Patrick works every weekday, he is the best choice to be the guardian of this fundamental, evolving document. In addition to keeping the original pages, he is currently making an electronic copy that can be downloaded by individual employees. “You can just ask me. I have it all memorized,” he brags. He opens the refrigerator door, and a package containing a single light bulb falls to the floor and smashes. There is a collective gasp from the circle of employees around him, followed by a pause. Then Patrick says, “Doesn’t belong there.” The group erupts in laughter. Just then the phone rings and a chorus of “Not It!” chimes through the air. A rookie is sent to deal with the caller, and Patrick retrieves a broom from the closet. The projectionist for the night runs off to thread the next film. A debate begins over the best music for a Jedi light saber duel: Episode I’s “Duel of the Fates” or Return of the Jedi’s score for the battle between Luke and Darth Vader? The doors swing open, announcing a group of college students, all of them clamoring for two-dollar tickets. As the rest of the employees take their places for the next rush, Patrick cautions them. “There might still be glass over there. So don’t anyone walk around barefoot. Or sit down naked or anything.”

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