The Future of Cinema Is Cinema Itself

One of the founders of the Rockaway Film Festival is developing a new model for social cinema.

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Sam Fleischner is a filmmaker, curator, and maker whose work bridges art, public space, and civic life. In 2018, he founded the Rockaway Film Festival, where he serves as artistic director. He has directed and produced several feature films ("Stand Up Through Closed Doors", "Wah Dodom", "Under the Brain" and "Donald Cry") that have been screened internationally and have received numerous festival awards, along with recognition from the Independent Spirit and National Board of Review Awards.

He has directed and produced for artists including MGMT, Santigold and Panda Bear, and commissioned films for the Museum of Modern Art. His most recent film, "Jetty" (2025), follows the restoration of the Rockaway coastline and observes man's attempt to engineer nature. Related Stories Austin Film Society opens new John H. McCall theater with 'Paper Tiger' screening and 4K restorations

It's always sad when a movie theater goes dark. With the recent news of AMC's Caps Bay closing, the term "cinema desert" has been brought up again. It's a relative term though, especially in New York, one of the world's greatest cinema cities, with incredible theaters, programming and dedicated audiences. But the true deserts of New York cinema lie further afield, in places like the Rockaways.

During the 20th century, the Rockaways had nine movie theaters: Movie Palaces in Far Rockaway, a movie theater built on the water at Arverne Pier, and neighboring theaters such as the Surfside Twin, the last of which closed in 1996. Since then, getting to the movies has typically meant a journey of more than 12 to 50 hours each way for residents.

It was the driving force behind the Rockaway Film Festival, launched in 2018. We wanted to bring cinema back to where it had lost it, and the festival was a low-cost experiment to test the waters. People showed up. For the past six years, we have been running a temporary, community-built, open-air theater called Arverne Cinema.

This organization has become more than a film festival and more than a series of film screenings. This experience extends before and after the film and includes everything from the approach to the venue, the food and drink served, the music and dance, and most importantly, the exchange between the artists and the audience. Most of what we've done has been ephemeral, but our audience has endured and that's why we stick with it.

Rockaway itself is an unusual cinematic location, with open skies and quixotic lighting. Dolphins, surfers, and cargo ships sail across the Atlantic horizon. Across Jamaica Bay, you can see the Manhattan skyline and the constant traffic of planes flying in and out of JFK. The dense housing reflects the backgrounds and histories of people who have arrived from all over the world, either by choice or by circumstance, and this mix of culture has created its own.

While it is impossible to satisfy everyone's cinematic tastes, curating for such a diverse audience presents a special challenge. Of course, many residents would love to see the latest in the franchise on the biggest IMAX screen. But it's worth asking what we lose when it becomes the default. The industry has engineered a system where the stories are the same, the stars and formulas are the same. We call it entertainment, but it is also a huge machine for the same production, with profit as its organizing principle. And many of the multiplex theaters built to accommodate that output are also public, and often the ones that close one after the other.

In a society run by capitalism, there is an assumption that everything is done for profit, and if that is not the mission, it falls into a special category: non-profit - everyone runs before they are asked to donate! But aren't some of the most valuable things in life—including art and culture—precious precisely because they are not driven by profit? Maybe their value is in their resistance, that logic and the monoculture it produces. I'm not sure I have anything new to add to the age-old debate of art and commerce, but it can't be ignored when thinking about the future of cinema. The idea that some things are worth doing simply because they enrich our lives, not because they generate returns, seems increasingly fragile.

Cinema has always been more than art or entertainment. It is a place where people gather to experience something collectively, apart from an arena or cathedral. In its short life, cinema has evolved from a live projection image, to sound images, added color, new aspect ratios, 3D, IMAX, 4DX and more. There is always a new show, a new gimmick to attract people to the theater and justify the cost of tickets. But what about simply charting a shared experience that takes us back to something as primitive as storytelling around the fire?

And what about movies that aren't built around formulas, stars, exposure, awards, and profits? What about the strange and sublime experiences that only fully reveal themselves when encountered collectively, in a room, over time? How can we preserve and present these works as events, as theater has historically existed as a living art?

When we make the effort to go out, we want it to be worthwhile, and the evidence is already here. Over the past decade or so, New York moviegoers have shown a real appetite for this kind of experience. The repertoire of 35 mm film screenings, artist presentations in micro-cinemas and other special programs continue to attract full audiences. People show up to watch something they've never heard of, just because someone they trust has built an experience around it.

This is especially important now, as people become more isolated, and it speaks to some of our most basic needs as a species. Since the pandemic, an epidemic of loneliness continues to spread, as we live most of our lives with only personal feeds of images and information. When we move toward convenience, when experience becomes individualized, something essential is lost. A community is a kind of cultural petri dish: a physical environment where ideas collide, artists experiment, and the unexpected can happen. Culture emerges from proximity, friction and accident. This is why we not only need to create more cinemas, but also rethink their design and operation so that they can be sustainable.

As we search for space and begin fundraising for the movie theater's permanent home in Rockaway, there are many considerations. The program will include everything from blockbusters to obscure documentaries, silent classics with live accompaniment, films from around the world, expansive cinema and everything in between film and performance. The space should be flexible: optimized for film, but able to be converted for other uses such as dance, concert, puppet theater, private event space, or film production location. A kitchen will serve delicious food and drinks, with plenty of comfortable space to sit, talk and gather before and after events.

There are examples of this model around the world, but we need more of them here in the United States, and I hope that each one is as unique as the community it serves. As we build our version in Rockaway, I hope it can serve as a useful template and help a broader network of small, independent theaters that are able to do things that a centralized commercial distribution system can't. By prioritizing collaboration over competition, we can use our interconnected world to share infrastructure, knowledge and resources while providing meaningful and sustainable support to artists and filmmakers.

Cinemas are a public good, strengthening communities, supporting local economies and nurturing the next generation of storytellers and audiences. They invite us to put down our devices, pay attention, and experience new perspectives. Cinema has always been a technology for recording the human experience and bringing us together in the dark to imagine other worlds. Perhaps its future depends on remembering why it mattered in the first place. Where will we gather? How will we connect in real life? If cinema is to survive, we must protect spaces for the collective imagination – and recognize that making and maintaining them is, above all, a human endeavour.