"I wanna be a part of it -- New York, New York!"

The Greenwich, because of its location, is one of the most accessible movie theatres in the city. Whether one lives in the West Village or Chelsea, or commutes by train from the West Side or the boroughs, the Greenwich is easy to get to and, even when I know I'm making a mistake, I find I keep returning. In my opinion the Greenwich is, without question and with no competition, the single most ineptly run and mismanaged movie theatre in town. The theatre has twin screens, and one often will hear the soundtrack for the other film more clearly than you one you're actually watching. Movies often play out of focus. On the coldest day of the year there will be no heat. On the hottest day of the year there will be no air conditioning. The people at the concession stand are the surliest, most disagreeable misfits this side of Rikers Island. The people at the ticketbooth have told me, on two separate occasions, that they cannot make change for a $20 bill, and have turned me away. I have waited in the ticket-buyers' line here -- I was first in line, by the way -- while management tried to repair a broken automatic ticket machine, only to find that the film had already begun -- to an empty audience -- when we were finally admitted fifteen minutes late.

Yet nothing can top what happened at that one Sunday matinee. For reasons that will become obvious, I cannot recall the title of the film I went to see. I arrived for the first show, bought my ticket, and was ushered into theatre 1. I took my seat, the audience began to fill, and just as starting time approached, a young usher entered and announced that we were in the wrong theatre. The film we wanted to see was actually playing in theatre 2. We were asked to change theatres.

To say there was a certain amount of groaning and grumbing is an understatement. But we complied -- what else could we do? -- and grabbed coats, newspapers, popcorn, drinks, survival bags, and off we trudged, single file, to theatre 2, all the while passing the patrons from *that* theatre, who, like us, were being rerouted. It must have been quite a sight. We were an unhappy lot, but we inhabited our new surroundings quickly, took new seats, unloaded our gear, and settled in for the film we had come to see. And we waited. And waited.

After about 10 minutes, the same little usher entered, and announced that they were sorry, but they had made a mistake. We were in the right theatre the first time. Would we please move back to theatre 1. This announcement was met by deafening, jaw-dropping silence -- incredulity -- followed by howls and curses to make even Mr. Tarantino blush. The usher, unfazed, shouted above the roars of anger that we would have to move to the other theatre because the film we wanted to see would be starting in less than two minutes.

If I'd had any sense at all at this point I'd have simply walked out and demanded my money back, but, like most of the others in this crowd -- a better description at this point is angry mob -- I gathered up my stuff, and stormed out and back into theatre 1, fighting the onslaught of angry people from that theatre once again changing destinations. I took a seat -- not the original one I'd selected many moons ago, much to my disgust -- and threw down my belongings. Seated there, I stared towards the exit, silently, defiantly challenging the usher to not even think about making another entrance. I think I speak for everyone in my audience -- we were all war veterans united with shared battle scars at this point -- that there was absolute, unmitigated relief when the room finally went dark and the coming attractions began. And finally the main feature, and ... it was the wrong film. I will repeat this. IT WAS THE WRONG FILM. The OTHER film.

I cannot accurately descibe what happened at this point. Suffice it to say I shortly found myself outside the theatre, with several hundred other people, demanding a refund and vowing never, ever, to return to this den of complete and utter incompetence. And I didn't--for about six months. Did I get the refund? To be honest, I cannot recall at all. This was such an enraging experience that I think I finally simply fled away, in search of a drink.

So much for the worst. On the positive side, I love the Beekman Theatre on the East Side, or at least what used to be the Beekman. I haven't been there in several years and God only knows what has happened to it. But it used to be the most pleasant, most relaxed, most comfortable movie house in town. And incredibly inaccessible for me of late. I hope it's still in one piece. (And, of course, I saw some of my favorite movies there.)

I also was completely surprised by how much I liked the two-year-old Lincoln Tower multiplex on the West Side. Their main theatre, the "Loews" auditorium, is as good as it gets. Unfortunately, this is the place that charges $9. But I find myself going there more and more.

I'd rate the best theatres as follows:

And I'm selecting *theatres*, not the films they screen. I spend much time at the Angelika, the Quad, the Lincoln Center theatres because of the films they show, but the theatres per se leave much to be desired. -- JMSTREEP