What I learned by sneaking into movies at the Uptown Theatre

One cold winter night, at the age of 17, I set out across frozen Lake of the Isles for a covert operation at the Uptown Theatre in Minneapolis. My best friend, Gunderbutt, and I were out to see an R-rated double feature.

We were too young to buy tickets to see "The Deer Hunter" and "Apocalypse Now." So rather than going to the main entrance, we headed straight for the Lagoon Avenue emergency exit. It seemed stuck at first. But then, grudgingly, it opened.

It always did. The latch had been broken for years.

I didn't know it then, but by slipping into the theater that night, I was slipping out of my childhood. I was entering a place that wasn't quite adulthood, but where adult decisions were made.

My friends and I sneaked into plenty of theaters over the years, but most of the movies we saw were at the Uptown, because of that broken door. We usually went for themed doubleheaders: "Pink Flamingos" paired with "Eraserhead" or the emotionally complicated "Carnal Knowledge" paired with "Bad Timing: A Sensual Obsession" (which I saw at 15 — definitely bad timing).

But the night Gunderbutt and I saw "Apocalypse Now" and "The Deer Hunter" felt different, important somehow. There was a military charge in the air. The year was 1982. We'd just been reminded in health class that President Carter had reinstated selective service two summers before. We needed to sign up when we turned 18. If we didn't, we wouldn't be eligible for college financial aid. We might even be charged with a felony.

Gunderbutt and I talked a lot about that requirement and wondered why it was reinstated if our country wasn't at war (we were unaware that newly elected President Reagan had just initiated covert operations in Nicaragua and El Salvador). But when "The Deer Hunter" started, we were able to kick back and forget all of that. For the film's first 30 minutes anyway.

Three of my four uncles were servicemen and my father had been in the reserves. As a grade-schooler I couldn't help but imagine the heroic moments they experienced in the military. I even fantasized about how far I might go to save myself or others.

And then there was another uncle. He had been a conscientious objector during the Vietnam War, serving out his tour by working in an old folks' home. He was a kind, gentle man, but his civil service never inspired heroic fantasies in me.

"The Deer Hunter" and "Apocalypse Now" showed me that the brotherhood of shared concern could also be a brotherhood of shared trauma. The flip side of going to war wasn't just the danger of being killed — there was also the danger of being the killer. And not always righteously.

By the end of "Apocalypse Now" when Brando utters his famous final line — "the horror, the horror," in response to the killing around him — I had an epiphany. I would not serve in the military. I couldn't run the risk of killing others.

"I am never sneaking into another movie again," I said to Gunderbutt, emotionally exhausted, as I punched through the full metal jacket of the exit door.

As we walked home across the expanding, echoing ice of Lake of the Isles, I kept hearing the words "The horror, the horror." And that epiphany hardened into my first adult decision. I would volunteer to serve my country somehow, but I wouldn't do it by going to war.

That summer I registered as a conscientious objector. It didn't mean I couldn't be called up, but it added to my legal argument to serve in a different way — just like my uncle, who suddenly seemed a bit more heroic.

I admit, I was a little too full of my newfound religion for a time. As an adamant 17-year-old, I thought people who willingly enrolled were dupes, too easily swayed by their patriotism to see through the haze of the military-industrial complex. But over the years, as I learned more about the world and met more service members, I came to understand there are other reasons to serve. Several of my family members recently joined, including a niece who became the first woman in Minnesota to sign up for combat infantry in the Army. I've come to respect their good reasons for serving in the military.

But their reasons aren't mine. And thanks to a couple of well-made films — consumed at just the right age, with a little help from the Uptown's conveniently broken door — I was able to think carefully and make my first important adult decision.

Sean Toren is a writer and German translator living in Minneapolis, and has volunteered in many social service settings over the years. He was excited to celebrate the Uptown Theatre's 100th anniversary this month by walking chin-up through the main entrance. He can be reached through GyroscopeNow.com.