Retro Atmosphere Quotes

When I first walked into 54 Below, I had this kind of deja vu experience and tried to imagine what this was like back in the day when I would come here at night after doing 'A Chorus Line.'

The Beverly Cinema in L.A. screens old, artsy movies for half the price of regular theaters. It has an old-school vibe to it. It's cheap, and the selection of movies is always interesting and different. Very romantic!

I like diner coffee.

It was not possible to film in California, because all the areas are heavily built up now. Coming to Cape Town is an invitation to step into the past and recreate Los Angeles of the 1930s.

I've got an affinity and love for old theaters.

Old film-noir movies. There's something comforting about watching black-and-white movies, and hearing this kind of music just puts me in a fantasy world. It's a really great escape for me.

In a kind of simple, stupid way, when you walk down a normal city block and you turn around the corner and there's 40 vintage cars and every storefront has been done over to look like 1941, it just kind of blows your mind. It's movie magic.

They were like little palaces: all rococo or art deco. You'd walk in off those hot streets into a nice, air-cooled theater, and you'd spend all day watching Cagney or Jimmy Stewart. It cost all of 17 cents.

Drew Friedman isn't just a brilliant artist. He takes you to a place. He takes you back in time. He makes you smell the stale cigarettes and cold brisket and you say, thank you for the pleasure.

We had incense and rock'n'roll posters, and we sold records and rolling papers. People could just, like, hang out. We had a cool vibe going.

I prefer the old theaters because the audience is... trapped.

You know, because of the lack of budget, we had to find neighborhoods where time had stopped - kind of stuck in the '50s. And no place had that better than Staten Island.

A muddy little stream, a village grown unfamiliar with time and trees. I turn around and retrace my way up Main Street and park and have a Coke in the confectionery store. It is run by a Greek, as it used to be, but whether the same Greek or another I would not know. He does not recognize me, nor I him. Only the smell of his place is familiar, syrupy with old delights, as if the ghost of my first banana split had come close to breathe on me.