Entertainment

After all, a multiplex is a multiplex is a multiplex -- at least in Las Vegas, where the majority of moviegoers enjoy such state-of-the-art trappings as stadium seating and digital sound.

Ah, but this caller hadn't been to the movies since "Apocalypse Now."

Not, mind you, "Apocalypse Now Redux," the expanded, re-edited version that hit theaters last year, but the 1979 original.

Back then, the movies were a lot better. (The year "Apocalypse Now" arrived, its Academy Award competition included such classics as "All That Jazz," "Breaking Away," "Norma Rae," "The China Syndrome," "Manhattan," "Alien" and that year's best picture Oscar-winner, "Kramer vs. Kramer.")

But the theaters we watched them in certainly didn't match the quality, especially the much maligned early multiplexes.

With precious few exceptions -- including Las Vegas' now-vanished Redrock 11 -- multiplexes of yore were true shoeboxes: narrow and cramped, with tiny screens, tight sightlines, Spartan seats and an ambience straight out of "20,000 Years in Sing Sing."

No wonder it took two decades for our gentle reader to brave another trip to see a movie on the big screen.

Once he got there, to see the new "Ocean's Eleven," he discovered a whole new world -- one Las Vegans largely take for granted.

At most local first-run theaters these days, you never have to worry about the basketball player sitting in front of you, because stadium seating assures an unobstructed view of the screen. (Whether you want to see what's on the screen is another matter entirely.)

And you never have to worry about hearing stuff blow up real good, what with digital sound -- and, in many theaters, THX quality assurance systems -- maximizing the blasts. Sometimes the sound packs too robust a punch: If you're trying to watch an intimate drama while the bombastic likes of "World War III, Part II" is playing next door, say goodbye to the sounds of silence. (If only the folks running the projection booth were as proficient at turning down the sound as they are at cranking it up to 11.)

Yet, whether we realize it, Las Vegans are pretty lucky when it comes to our current crop of movie theaters. When attending press screenings in Southern California, I'm often amazed at what premier theaters there don't have -- and what a difference stadium seating makes.

For example, there's a spacious auditorium in the Los Angeles neighborhood of Westwood that's a studio favorite for preview screenings. I've seen everything from "Dante's Peak" to "Ocean's Eleven" there -- from an aisle seat, the only spot where I can get a clear view of the expansive screen. And in La Jolla, the affluent San Diego suburb where I previewed "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone," my nephew and I had to crane our necks and play lean-to-the-left, lean-to-the-right from our press seats.

We can thank Las Vegas' recent, rapid growth for the widespread existence of late-model theaters.

Oh, plenty of other places have new theaters like ours. In most cases, however, the circuits operating them also have older theaters lacking the latest comforts.

And that explains why so many theater chains are in so much financial trouble.

Throughout the '90s, theater chains went on a building spree, constructing high-tech megaplexes (14 or more screens) to lure moviegoers. Just one problem with that plan: Nobody wanted to go to the older theaters anymore. (Regal Cinemas, for example, filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy protection and has closed 128 of its theaters during the past two years, darkening 758 screens ‹ none in Southern Nevada, where the circuit operates 84 screens at six locations.)

Las Vegas' older movie theaters may not have been imploded like many of Glitter City's most venerable casinos, but they're gone all the same. Of the first-run theaters that were here when I arrived in late 1983, exactly zero survive. Even my favorite, the Gold Coast Twin, gave up the ghost in April 2000 after a 14-year run.

Today's theaters may boast impressive amenities, to be sure. But they also feature some decidedly unstellar attractions.

Chattering audience members who won't turn off their endlessly beeping cellular phones. Dim bulbs in the projection booth -- some inside the projector, some operating the projector. Sticker-shock prices at the box office and the snack bar.

And, inevitably, movies you discover you really don't want to see -- after you've already invested your time, your money and your precious brain cells.

Even in those dire circumstances, however, at least grumpy moviegoers can complain in comfort.