The Rockaway Film Festival: Where Cinema Finds Its Soul by the Sea

Despite its endless appetite for novelty, New York City really is a creature of recursion. Memories never remain too far behind, or rather, too far ahead, before they’re back again wearing a familiar form. One of the city’s finest resurrections in recent memory is moviegoing in the Rockaways, a testament to community spirit and the enduring magic of shared cinematic experiences. This revitalization, spearheaded by the Rockaway Film Festival (RFF) and its creation of the Arverne Cinema, marks a poignant return to a bygone era when the peninsula thrived as a vibrant hub for movie lovers, offering a refreshing counter-narrative to the increasingly commodified world of film exhibition.

The very idea of a bustling movie theater scene by the beach in the Rockaways now feels like a stretch of the imagination, obscuring a rich, golden age of cinema that once flourished there. From the 1920s through the 1950s, this coastal stretch of Queens boasted a remarkable array of nearly 25 theaters, rivaling even the famed entertainment offerings of Coney Island and the millionaire colonies born of Gilded Age excesses. Patrons would pay a mere 25 cents for a double feature, often enjoying the films in smoking-friendly auditoriums attended by faux-tuxedoed ushers. These were not just picture palaces; they were community anchors. The Park Theater, for instance, gained notoriety for its provocative programming, frequently drawing picket lines and protests from local churches who deemed its film selections unsuitable. The original Arverne Theater, before its dismantling in 1952, served the Rockaways’ vibrant Jewish community, hosting Yiddish acts alongside film screenings and proudly broadcasting its presence with an outsized vertical marquee. Further testament to the area’s cinematic grandeur was the Arverne Pier Theater, a neoclassical marvel complete with Corinthian columns and a half-round pediment, which directly overlooked the sea until a devastating storm claimed it in 1914.

However, this golden era was not to last. A confluence of factors conspired to dim the Rockaways’ cinematic lights. Post-World War II demographic shifts saw many residents move away, while devastating building fires claimed several beloved venues. General neighborhood decline further chipped away at the viability of these cultural institutions. One by one, the theaters shuttered their doors, a slow, mournful fade to black. The final curtain fell in 1996 when the Jerry Lewis Cinema closed, plunging the Rockaways into a quarter-century-long drought without a single commercial indoor theater. For 25 years, the peninsula, once a beacon of seaside entertainment, was left without a dedicated space for communal moviegoing.

Hope, however, proved resilient. Nine years ago, the nonprofit Rockaway Film Festival organization began its mission, initially popping up screens in various unconventional venues across the peninsula, from the historic Fort Tilden to the lively Jacob Riis Park. These scattered sightings, akin to reports of a long-extinct species reappearing, rekindled the community’s desire for the return of moviegoing as a beloved neighborhood pastime. The festival’s vision culminated in 2021 with the ambitious effort to construct the Arverne Cinema. Built by friends and neighbors, it became, and remains, the only indoor commercial cinema in the Rockaways, a symbol of a dream reclaimed. Its establishment was not merely the opening of a theater; it was the re-establishment of a cultural heartbeat, a tangible manifestation of a community’s collective will to bring cinema back home.

I arrived at this year’s Rockaway Film Festival (RFF9) prepared for anything the coastal air might throw my way, donning local uniform: swim trunks beneath my work slacks and flip-flops on my feet, ready for an impromptu beach excursion. The day’s storms had recently broken, giving way to a muggy summer evening that offered a welcome preview of the clearer, cooler days of fall, setting a perfectly atmospheric stage for the open-air movies. The outdoor cinema at Arverne is a fascinating space, imbued with a raw, Brutalist charm that tells a story of local resilience. Its perimeter is half-lined with imposing concrete cubes, while the other half is enclosed with planks salvaged directly from the boardwalk destroyed during Hurricane Sandy. The ground, a mix of gravel and sand, creates the sensation of being at the bottom of a riverbed, a feeling amplified by the constant, smooth-bellied stream of airplanes taking off from the nearby JFK airport, rumbling softly overhead. This isn’t the grandeur of old. The current cinema’s main centerpiece is simply its screen, with little in the way of elaborate scenery behind it, save for the silhouette of tower cranes from a defunct concrete facility, their trussed necks leaning like a family of mechanical sauropods forever paused in progress.

The warmth of the space, however, truly activates once it’s brimming with people. Within earshot, I overheard conversations ranging from the convoluted commutes undertaken to reach this unique venue to ethical debates on documentary filmmaking. Most, though, were simply exchanging reports on recently seen films and the "homework" they’d done on the night’s upcoming screenings. This intellectual buzz, perhaps, was particularly pronounced for the world premiere of Eternity One, a poignant documentary from Baltimore-based filmmaker Marnie Ellen Hertzler, which explores the existential precarity of Tangier Island, a remote Chesapeake Bay community slowly eroding under the relentless pressures of the climate crisis. While Eternity One kicked off the festival, it was by no means indicative of the full breadth of RFF9’s programming or its diverse crowds. The festival’s lineup reads as an eclectic, yet remarkably affordable, menu designed to appeal to all. Tickets are capped at a democratic $10, and a handful of movies are even shown for free, ensuring that access to cinema is not a luxury but a community right.

The RFF9 lineup boasts a delightful array of cinematic experiences. Families flocked to the 1979 Muppets Movie, whose timeless charm and iconic "Rainbow Connection" worked its magic once again on young and old alike. For a different demographic, a collection of animated shorts themed around "Romantasy" catered to the old-school Adult Swim crowd, blending fantastical narratives with romantic undertones. Beyond traditional film screenings, the festival also embraces live performance as a core component of its offerings. A highlight was the Dabke dance workshop led by El Funoun, one of Palestine’s leading traditional dance companies. Dabke, a vibrant folk dance often performed at celebrations, carries deep cultural significance, braiding themes of joy and communal resistance, making it a powerful and relevant addition to the festival’s diverse program.

Most movies at the RFF are thoughtfully paired with local live acts, transforming the cinema into a dynamic cultural nexus. These performances fill the air as the crowd mills in, building anticipation, or keep the party going long after the projector shuts off, fostering a continuous festive atmosphere. One might walk into a screening accompanied by the experimental sounds of Brooklyn slacker prog and exit to the pulsating rhythms of a Roots reggae DJ set. Before Eternity One, the enigmatic Kyp Malone, in all his braid-bearded glory, took the stage. His performance was a blend of playful direction—"now pretend I’m a movie, and pay the f*** attention"—and poignant, if somewhat unsettling, conversation starters delivered between straight-from-the-bottle sips of Casamigos, such as, "did you think fascism was going to feel different?"

A particularly inspired pairing was the combination of Ridgewood-based documentarian John Wilson’s first feature, The History of Concrete, with a high-energy set from Bellerose rapper Heems, formerly of the acclaimed group Das Racist (a nod to fans of their iconic "combination Pizza Hut-Taco Bells" track). Wilson’s distinctive whispering, Kermit-ish cadence, known for its observational humor and existential reflections on urban life, juxtaposed with Heems’ audacious, politically charged bars, serves as a powerful shorthand for Queens’ unique identity. It’s a borough that proudly rejects any one-size-fits-all characterization, embodying a vibrant mosaic as one of the most diverse urban centers in the world.

Tying a bow on the quintessential Queens-ness of it all is the al-fresco setting itself. The Rockaways possess a distinct rhythm, a calming antidote to the city’s relentless pace. Call it the influence of the local surf culture, or the protected peace of the nearby nature reserves, but the Rockaways are just the kind of place made for prying sticks out of asses. As friendly neighborhood rockstar Patti Smith succinctly put it on her Substack: "Being at Rockaway Beach makes me happy." It’s long ceased to be a neighborhood that puts on airs, an unpretentious attitude that liberates everyone present. Under the darkening sky, I found odd comfort in the couple next to me taking advantage of the shifting tenebrism for some drive-in-style PDA. Tucked inside the cul-de-sac of a residential street off of Beach 67, Arverne Cinema feels right at home amidst the two-story houses hosting their own celebrations, with one particularly passionate birthday party across the street occasionally beating out the volume of Hertzler’s Q&A. This is cinema integrated into life, not isolated from it.

While the festival bounced around for its first few years, finding a permanent home in the community had always been the goal. "There’s not much that’s like the joy of sharing a movie that you love very much in a space that was built by friends and neighbors with a full audience," said RFF co-founder and organizer Courtney Muller, reflecting on the festival’s sixth year at Arverne Cinema. This sentiment perfectly encapsulates the ethos of the Rockaway Film Festival.

At the risk of sounding like another trite moral about the importance of social gathering post-pandemic, the Rockaway Film Festival is as much about the act of moviegoing as it is about movie-watching. Thankfully, the act itself is not nearly as endangered as it was once reported to be, with major chains like AMC boasting booming attendance numbers. However, factors such as surging ticket prices and increasingly shorter gaps between theatrical runs and streaming releases contribute to the perception that going out to the movies is a luxury, thereby shrinking crowds and alienating potential audiences. That image is only bolstered by the glamorous superlatives we’ve come to expect from premiere film festivals around the world—the record-smashing standing ovations at Cannes, the bigger and better revamps of Sundance, the making or breaking of Oscar contenders at the Toronto International Film Festival.

In stark contrast, with its flimsy baskets of superb beach shack grub and seating reminiscent of a school play, the Rockaway Film Festival is doing the remedial work of bringing movies back to the people. It reminds its attendees that a movie theater is not supposed to be a sarcophagus, a silent, reverent tomb. My favorite New York theaters, the ones I’d champion as worth traveling for, are all framed by their own signs of life—from the faint roar of the subways that rumbles through the Angelika to the shoulder-to-shoulder sardine can theaters of Film Forum. (Though, one should never go so far as to condone cellphone use for QR code ordering at an Alamo Drafthouse, which shatters the immersive experience). The Rockaway Film Festival champions an alternative, a living, breathing cinema.

That a film festival could grow and thrive in the Rockaways after more than two decades without a single theater is a remarkable feat in its own right. Its longevity for the past nine years speaks volumes about the simple human desire, shared by cinephiles and curious locals alike, that watching a good movie in a crowd of peers, perhaps even with your toes in the sand, should come at no exorbitant cost. Rafael Espinal, Commissioner of the Mayor’s Office of Media and Entertainment, eloquently articulated this vision at the start of this year’s events: "When this festival began as a four-day experiment in 2018, it was not just about showing movies—it was about saying clearly to this community that it deserves cinema. Rockaway reminds us that cinema belongs everywhere in New York City, not just in the places where people expect them, but right here, by the beach with this community."

In an interview with Hell Gate, Courtney Muller described the undercurrent of this year’s programming as the "stories of things coming apart" and what grows in the spaces left after collapse. This theme might as well be the unofficial motto for the Rockaways itself, a community that has repeatedly demonstrated extraordinary resilience. Here, surfers dropped everything to shovel out sunken homes after Hurricane Sandy, grassroots mutual aid networks opened their doors to displaced New Yorkers after 9/11, and neighbors came together to convert a vacant lot into a vibrant movie theater. The Rockaway Film Festival is not just about films; it’s a living embodiment of the Rockaways’ enduring spirit of rebuilding, community, and finding beauty in the aftermath.

RFF9 is an exemplary case study that the local flavor of the Rockaways is best appreciated up close, through direct experience. I can’t write about what it was like to taste the salt air seasoned with New York atmosphere and make the flavor materialize on your tongue. A high-budget documentary exclusive to the streaming platform that produced it can’t either. You might have to wait another year for the next festival, take the A train as far down as you’ve ever taken it, come early, and claim one of the beach chairs while you can to feel it for yourself, but the point is that you must. This is more than a film festival; it’s an invitation to participate in a genuine urban resurrection.

How to Visit Rockaway Film Festival

This year’s festival runs from September 2-6, and while tickets to the remaining screenings have largely sold out online, some still offer limited capacity for tickets sold at the door. For others, you can sign up to be on a waitlist at the ticket stand before showtime, offering a last-minute chance to experience the magic. For the most up-to-date information on this year’s screenings, including any changes or additional availability, visit the programming page of the festival here.

As for getting yourself to Arverne Cinema, you have a few convenient options, each offering its own unique journey to the peninsula. You could take the Far Rockaway-bound A train to Beach 67 Street and enjoy a pleasant eight-minute walk to the theater. Alternatively, ride the Q22 bus to either the Rockaway Beach Blvd / Beach 73 St stop or the Beach Channel Dr / Beach 71 St stop, with connections available from the LIRR Far Rockaway station. For the most scenic approach, consider the NYC Ferry, which provides breathtaking views of the city skyline and the open water as you make your way to the Rockaways.

The festival’s website also hosts an extensive Rockaway guide with invaluable recommendations ranging from where to get your morning coffee to the best cannabis dispensary in town, ensuring visitors can fully immerse themselves in the local culture. To truly take advantage of these expert recommendations and embrace the laid-back Rockaways vibe, consider basing yourself directly in the area. For a comfortable and stylish weekend stay, the beachy sanctuary of The Rockaway Hotel comes highly recommended, offering a perfect blend of local charm and upscale amenities.