Lifting a reel of previews onto a pin above the Brenkert BX-100 projector, Elizabeth Antalek threads the glossy film through the projector head and the RCA sound head, snapping it into place at various points. Then, winding some of the extra film onto an empty reel on the bottom, she pulls it taut in front of the projector scope.

The small, narrow projection booth behind The Music Hall’s balcony smells of oiled machinery and moving metallic parts, with a faint trace of theater popcorn. The two projectors in the room stand a couple of feet apart, each one pointed down through a spotless window in the wall toward the stage. The machines are separated into three metal sections: a large gray lamphouse in the back that shines light through the film, a black projector head toward the front that focuses the 35mm film through a lens and slides it past the lamp fast enough to create imagery upon the movie screen, and a small sound head directly below the projector head that reads the strip of sound recording on the outside edges of the film. The whirring machinery hums to life as Antalek flips the projector on and frames the film so it is ready to be shown on screen. This is the preview reel; on the second projector, she loads the first 6,000-foot reel of the Wednesday night film, “2046” by Wong Kar Wai. It’s 20 minutes until show time.

“I love the magic of going to the movies,” Antalek says, while making final adjustments to the reels. “That’s why I wanted this job; to be part of the process.”

As head projectionist, she runs the projection booth at The Music Hall upwards of four times a week. She’s worked here since 2000, carrying on a longstanding tradition.

In 1878, the current incarnation of The Music Hall in Portsmouth opened its doors after the original theater burned to the ground. It primarily functioned as an opera and music hall when it re-opened, changing to vaudeville in the 1920s. Movies were eventually introduced between these live shows, says film series manager Trevor Bartlett, who has worked at The Music Hall for 10 years now (the first couple of which were spent as a projectionist). After The Music Hall’s mid-century managers realized it was cheaper to move around film canisters than performers, the hall quickly switched to movies, says Bartlett.

Loews Theater purchased The Music Hall in 1945 and installed a carbon arc lamphouse, the same lamphouse the projectors used until about a decade ago. Bartlett, who used the early carbon arc machine, describes it as “extremely volatile,” thanks to the two carbon rods, which, when their ends barely touched, created an explosion of light, projecting through the film and lens onto the screen. When too much of the carbon tips touched each other they would explode, an occurrence Bartlett fortunately never experienced. The current lamphouse is from the 1990s, shortly after the theater converted to its present incarnation as an independent, nonprofit performing arts venue.

A phone rings in the booth and Antalek answers, receiving the OK from the house manager to start the film. It’s 7 p.m. on the dot. On the first projector, the one with the previews, she punches a switch to turn the projector lamp on, and starts the motor of the projector head. Then she opens the dowser, which lets the projector lamp’s light into the projector head. Lastly, she opens the plate in front of the projector head, and shadows and light dance upon the glass window in front of the projector scope and onto the movie screen below.

The crowd falls silent as the movie begins. Antalek makes any necessary adjustments to enhance the atmosphere.

Seven nights a week, a similar scene unfolds at the Ioka in Exeter.

The Ioka switched just last March from a carbon arc projector system, from the 1930s, to a Xenolite H40 lamphouse from the 1990s. The theater still has a Brenkert projection head from 1946 and a genuine silver screen, meaning the screen has actual silver embedded into the tightly woven silk or synthetic fabric that makes up its reflective surface.

Projectionist Ryan Plaisted is responsible for fixing most of the equipment that breaks around the Ioka. “Everything is high maintenance here,” says Plaisted. “Even the popcorn maker—that’s what they’re working on downstairs,” he says, referring to the theater employees tinkering with the machine below in the lobby. The antique equipment is an important part of the history of the Ioka, says Plaisted, who has worked as a projectionist at the theater for two years and learned most of what he knows about fixing projection equipment from on-the-job training.

At the Ioka, every two months or so something breaks and occasionally, if they can’t find a replacement, they may have to stop the movie, says Plaisted. If he can’t fix the problem, then they have to find outside help, and it can be difficult to find someone who knows how to work on machines that are 60 years old.   

For Plaisted, the upgrade in projector equipment last March means he isn’t confined to the projection booth for the entire movie, like he was when using the carbon-arc machine. It’s a change he enjoys.
“I’m glad I can press a button and go downstairs,” he says.

The whole idea of controlling the movie experience is what Plaisted likes most about being a projectionist, plus the perk of seeing all the latest releases.

Owner Roger Detzler, who has owned the Ioka for two years, recently put the 90-year-old building up for sale with a $1.3 million price tag. Independent theaters are slowly becoming extinct, says Detzler, because of customers lost to corporate theater chains. Having fewer screens than corporate theaters puts independents at a disadvantage. The Ioka has stayed in business by complementing movies with a steady stream of live events, from big band orchestras to private and graduation parties. 

“Independent theater owners are under all these pressures,” says Detzler. “I talk to many independents who are looking to expand their revenue base beyond ticket sales and concession.”

Detzler says they would like to upgrade their projection equipment, but until the budget allows, they keep back-up equipment in reserve.

Audience members are rarely aware of these behind-the-scenes details. As long as the aging equipment works, the nostalgia of the theater is kept intact.

For movie lovers and projectionists alike, this experience is hard to articulate in words, most comparable to a hypnotic state, in which you lose awareness of your body, and your eyes and mind take over.

Or like a small child sitting in the back seat of a car, Antalek speculates, coming home at night with her parents driving up front. Out the windows the child sees the lights of the surrounding buildings, and there’s something comfortable about the darkness at night and the neon of the signs and her parents up front driving and taking care of her—much like a projectionist in a theater.

The first reel of “2046” nears its end and Antalek, waiting for the cue on screen, punches the changeover button on the second projector, already loaded with the next reel. The 130-minute movie, which is on three reels, is nearing its halfway mark. “I personally feel that this movie is more about style than story,” says Antalek, who screens new films before they appear in front of an audience to see what kind of shape they are in. “What I got from it was more of a visual experience.” She sets up the other projector with the final reel.

Melynda Liberty, assistant manager at the Strand in Dover, has been working at that theater for two years. She and the manager, John Hewitt, are the only two employees at the Strand who work the three Model C Century projectors.

The Strand, which is over 85 years old, began as a playhouse. In 1919 it played its first movie, Marshall Neilan’s “Daddy Long Legs.” It kept afloat throughout the first half of the century by showing not only films but also Vaudeville acts and the popular Hotpoint cooking shows. In the mid-1980s, it was purchased by Michael Spinelli of Spinelli Cinemas and became the first theater in his chain.

The Strand has three projectors, one for each of its screens. The projectors for the two smaller viewing theaters, which have a capacity of 70 to 80 people, show 35mm film, while the newer projector for the larger theater, which holds 365 people, shows 35mm film with separate DTS digital sound.

“Digital is what we’re all moving toward,” says Liberty. The sound for the movies comes on a compact disc and plays in what essentially looks like a high-end stereo system, complete with several QSC amps on the bottom. For the smaller theaters, the projector’s lamphouse, projector head and sound head look similar to The Music Hall projectors, while for the larger theater the projector lamphouse is newer. The primary difference from The Music Hall is that all three projectors at the Strand use a platter system, three round trays next to the projectors upon which the film is laid. An elaborate system of 35mm film runs overhead from top platter through the projector and then back to a lower platter. The entire film of the movies can fit onto the platters with no need for the projectionist to change over from reel to reel.

The Strand has recently updated its concession counter and moved its ticket window inside, but has retained its unique, old-fashioned movie marquee.

“The job is fun when everything goes smoothly,” says Liberty. “I feel I know more about the (technical aspect of) movies than the people watching them.”

For moviegoers to have a pristine experience, the projectionists must be devoted to their craft, paying close attention to detail to make the movies as enjoyable as possible for the audience—from bringing up the lights at the end of the film (more quickly for comedies, more slowly for dramas) to setting the aspect ratio and masking, or border, of the film to create a dark edge around the picture, to making sure the volume is perfect in the theater.

The final reel is flipped on and the last 20 minutes of “2046” begin.

During movies, Antalek also spends time observing the audience. When she showed an Italian movie at the film series Telluride by the Sea two years ago, during a startling moment in the picture, everybody gasped at the exact same time.

“It was so exciting to hear that,” she confides.

For Antalek, the most frustrating parts of her job are the things she can’t control, like if the soundtrack is poorly recorded, or if the film is damaged in transit from another theater.

For a projectionist there is plenty of room for error, but Antalek says you only make the big mistakes once. She recalls that during one screening in her first couple months as a projectionist, she forgot to lock the pin that secures the top reel. The reel vibrated off the pin during the movie, crashing to the floor and ripping the film.

In 2004, Antalek was invited to the Telluride Film Festival, in Telluride, Colo., to work as a film projectionist at the facility the festival began in—the Sheridan Opera House. Returning again this Labor Day, she has learned the finer details of projecting at the festival, and she’s had some fun seeing movie stars and watching the premieres of films.

Film series manager Bartlett says projection is nearly a lost art. The projectionist is responsible for the audience’s entire movie experience, not to mention presenting a piece of art that takes large amounts of time and money to create. How this film is presented is up to the projectionist, and the smallest mis-splice may ruin the entire experience. It’s not a high-paying job, but the people who do it take great pride in it.

The final scene of “2046” ends, and the closing credits begin to scroll up the screen. Antalek brings up the lights, slowly. Patrons, many of them regulars, file out of the twilit theater.

By 10 p.m. Antalek has finished rewinding and packing the film in large gray canisters for delivery to another theater, and she does some final tidying of the booth. The screen is dark, the lights are out except for a “ghost” light on stage, which employees keep on for Music Hall haunts. Antalek will return in a few days to replay this scene, sharing with the audience her love of the movie atmosphere in the quality of the sound, the crisp, clean lines of the picture upon the screen, and the way the lights come up just right during the closing credits.