This story originally appeared in URBANIA, an online magazine based in Quebec focused on pop culture and society.

The line of cars stretches all the way to Highway 640. Past the gate, vehicles scatter in front of five massive screens. It's hot, the air thick with the smell of popcorn and summer vacation. While waiting for their movies to start, people toss balls, play board games, load up at the snack bar, walk their dogs, or sip beers from camping chairs.

Open for half a century on the site of a legendary flea market, the Saint-Eustache Drive-In gives me the feeling of coming home.

That's literally almost the case, since screen #4 practically backed onto our family bungalow on Leclair Street. Some summers, I'd head to Grande-Côte Park with a portable radio to catch free movies from atop the soccer field goalposts.

In my teenage years, the Mathers Drive-In was reason enough to rush getting a driver's license. We'd go with friends to smoke weed, drink, hide in car trunks to sneak in without paying, and barely watch the movie. Otherwise, we'd go as couples and pay little attention to the film (wink wink).

But before drive-in and chill, we went with our parents, in pyjamas, back when you'd hang a speaker on your window before they switched to broadcasting sound through your car radio.

I have a vivid memory of the first time I smoked hash with my older brother during one of these family outings.

The movie, I remember clearly, was Jurassic Park (the first one—yes, I'm ancient). The hash was consumed through a plastic bottle. I remember the buzz I felt in the back seat, squeezed between my two brothers, when the dinosaur's footsteps created ripples in the water glass inside Jeff Goldblum's Jeep.

All this to say I returned to my roots while reporting on these holdouts of cinema culture, these Gaulish villages still resisting invaders (read: the Netflixification of our movie-watching habits).

There are only a handful of drive-ins still operating, including Saint-Eustache, the biggest in the country with its five screens. Not so surprising in this mecca of modified cars.

It's a peak summer subject, when news has been dominated by Celine's lip sync, Kamala's laugh, or the squabbling on 98.5 FM.

"Yes, but there's still war in Ukraine, Gaza, and forest fires, Hugo..."

"Quiet!"

To prove I'm not completely lazy, I dragged along my colleague Gabrielle, a fresh thirty-something who's never set foot in a drive-in.

How on earth is that possible?

"I don't know, my parents never took me. But I've been dreaming about it since watching Grease," confesses the interested party.

But before Gabrielle's dream is fulfilled, a bit of history.

Car Culture > Culture

First appearing in the 1930s in the United States, drive-ins reached their peak in the 50s, becoming the ultimate symbol of the American dream: big cars and big Hollywood stars.

In Quebec, the Church delayed their arrival, believing drive-ins would be hotbeds of lustful behavior (which, it turns out, was no joke).

The 80s were certainly their golden age, with 44 drive-ins and 64 screens across the province. Today, only 5 drive-ins remain in Quebec.

The massive arrival of VCRs in homes hastened the decline of drive-ins, whose last vestiges are now mainly frequented by the nostalgic.

"And that's counting on the deep conviction of current owners, true enthusiasts well aware they're in a declining market, hanging on out of pure passion," observes André Lavoie, film critic at Le Devoir.

In his eyes, the drive-in is a contraption invented during the post-war boom years to cement the marriage between car culture and suburban development. Besides VCRs, urban sprawl also explains the disappearance of drive-ins, André believes. "Between a drive-in that operates four months a year and a real estate development, what do you choose? Real estate pressure has made this model less and less viable."

Though he personally disapproves of the concept as ecologically and urbanistically unsound, André Lavoie considers the drive-in a social experience before being a cultural one. "In my opinion, at the drive-in, the film is secondary."

André adds that the idea of going to the drive-in for some clandestine intimacy in your car has lost some relevance with the liberalization of morals. "Today, young people can go anywhere. Not surprising that the clientele is now mostly families," he concludes.

The last new drive-in

Perhaps even too family-oriented in the eyes of Nicolas Vallières, general manager of Ciné-Parc Belle-Neige, who accomplished the feat of opening in 2018. "We may have put too much emphasis on that (family appeal), and I'm seeing a disparity this year since our adult screen is performing worse," notes Nicolas, nevertheless proud of having opened the first new drive-in in 30 years. Their small two-screen operation (one for adults, one for families) is set up in the Belle-Neige ski resort parking lot and can accommodate about 400 cars. For comparison, Saint-Eustache has a capacity of 3,000 vehicles.

Nicolas believes he understands how the industry lost couples and older folks along the way. "For families, it's an event. For others, I'm fighting against the comfort of movie theaters and 80-inch screens at home," the director analyzes lucidly. His family also owns shares in the ski hill.

The drive-in thus becomes a way to make resort-related activities more profitable. "We were exclusively skiing and looking for year-round revenue. Around us, everyone already had their niche, like water slides or zip lines, and we said a drive-in matched our family values," explains Nicolas Vallières, who took the opportunity to modernize the experience, and now handles the technical operations and chooses the films.

"The digital conversion shut down several drive-ins. We needed new projectors," he says, but that’s not a chore for this enthusiastic cinephile. "I was probably Saint-Eustache's best customer. As soon as I had a car, I was there often," he points out.

The beginnings of his drive-in were marked by a festival of obstacles, starting with the pandemic. Nicolas even improvised as a concert promoter when drive-ins presented "COVID concerts."

"This year, the weather's cooperating, but because of the writers' strike, the available films are less interesting. It's been full of challenges from the start," Nicolas admits.

The recipe for success

It’s the same story 220 kilometers away at Ciné-Parc Orford, Quebec's oldest at 54 years of operation. "I feel like the remaining drive-ins are here to stay. There's something nostalgic about it, and we're constantly improving quality. But there won't be new ones opening—land is too expensive for just a few months of activity," observes François Pradella, owner of Ciné-Parc Orford since 2018.

Cinema is a family affair for the 44-year-old man, whose mother opened Cinema Magog. "At ten, I was cleaning theaters," says the man who now operates several movie theaters with a partner, plus the old drive-in. "We added a screen and introduced card payments. We now have three screens and capacity for 900 cars," François points out.

As for the recipe for success, it depends on two things: a good movie and the weather. "Last year we had a lot of rain, but now we're comparing to our best season, 2022," says the owner, who drew crowds with blockbusters like Deadpool & Wolverine and Despicable Me 4.

My review of Twisters

Back at Saint-Eustache Drive-In, where night is falling.

Gab is amazed by her baptism. That's why we forgive her a few questions of beautiful candor, such as: "Is it open in winter?" or the now classic: "Where does the sound come from?"

Gabrielle also confronts the eclectic fauna of drive-ins for the first time, including our immediate neighbours. On one side, Helena and Danick came from Mont-Laurier looking for a pretext to take their convertible for a spin. On the other, three grumps who arrived mid-film and can't stop talking, moving around, and disturbing everyone during the screening.

Then there's Jacinthe, a friendly single mom who's come with her kids for the third time this year, not to mention the impressive display of elaborate setups in pickup truck beds.

Gab even got the traditional honking concert demanding the projection begin.

As for the quality of the film, my critique will be concise: some damn big tornados, a heroine who must face her demons, an influencer we hate but will end up liking a little, a predictable love triangle, and a two-cent moral along the lines of "life is like a tornado you need to ride rather than fear."

Gab really loved the film, at least. "It's 1000 times better than all of Xavier Dolan's platitudes, anyway!" she exclaims on the way out, words I definitely don't endorse.

Outdoor cinema in the 514

For those not excited about watching movies from their cars, Montreal is teeming with outdoor cinema nights.

Critic André Lavoie is full of praise for all these initiatives.

"I think it's great. I bring my chair, a beer. I've watched documentaries. At the risk of sounding snobby, it's a way of reclaiming our city and parks that should be more encouraged and better supported," he praises.

So, I went Monday night to Parc des Compagnons-de-Saint-Laurent in the Plateau, where about a hundred people had lugged their folding chairs outside for an evening to see a documentary.

It was part of the 15th edition of Cinéma sous les étoiles, presented by Funambules Médias, where some fifty short documentaries compete across twenty Montreal parks, as well as in Longueuil and the Brome-Missisquoi region.

"Free, accessible outdoor cinema, followed by discussions with directors afterward," summarizes Xavier Curtenaz, partnerships and operations manager during the festival. He also acts as the evening's host. Xavier compares the audience to different types of museumgoers: those who pass by, stay for a moment before leaving, and those who remain for the entire show. "We attract about 100 to 120 people per screening, depending on the park," Xavier notes.

No pressure, but they leave a donation box at participants' discretion to help support the festival.

As André Lavoie mentioned to me, Xavier doesn't hide that times are tough regarding the race for grants, a perilous situation affecting outdoor cinema that was recently the subject of a report in Le Devoir. "Montreal has an influx of emerging festivals, so subsidies are shared among all these new proposals," Xavier laments.

It's true that outdoor cinema is thriving, and cinephiles benefit from a wide range of screenings: films presented by boroughs, Ciné-Parc Dante with Italian classics in their original language, film noir by the Lachine Canal, convivial evenings with a roaming screen, and even Quebec hits in Radio-Canada's park.

Making your brain work, even in the summer

My evening spent watching a documentary was quite pleasant. For someone who historically associates outdoor cinema with movies-where-people-don't-even-turn-around-when-it-explodes-behind-them, I felt like I was giving my brain some vitamins. The programming is sophisticated, too. Favourites include D'ici, d'ailleurs by Chadi Bennani, about cultural heritage among a group of Quebec teens, and Madeleine by Raquel Sancinetti, chronicling a road trip to the sea by a young woman and her centenarian friend.

Vacationing in Quebec for the first time, Moroccan Fatima Zahra saw a poster for the event by chance and had no idea what she was coming to see. "Watching a film outdoors isn't something we find in my country. I love everything here: the parks, the people, it's wonderful!" exclaims the tourist.

A little further on, Marie describes herself as a regular. "I live nearby, and I like seeing people gathered around documentaries. I learn a ton of things—proof that even in summer, my brain works!" she exclaims.

Finally, I'll end this "investigation" with this famous summer proverb: it's safer to watch a movie outdoors than to go outdoors while watching a movie.

Follow URBANIA for more independently produced and intelligent entertainment out of Quebec.

Hugo Meunier @ URBANIA

Drive-ins and outdoor movies: Holdouts of cinema culture