Photograph by Kevin C. Cox/Getty Images
We were standing in the middle of a line that stretched from the entrance of the Plaza Theatre all the way down to the Majestic Diner for the world premiere of the documentary Basically Frightened: The Musical Madness of Col. Bruce Hampton. I’d seen Bruce perform in local clubs for often meager audiences, so to see the scope of his musical influence on Atlanta reflected in that long line was thrilling. I was excited for my friend and eager to see the final cut of the film that included interviews with such luminaries as Derek Trucks, Warren Haynes, Dave Matthews, and Billy Bob Thornton.
As we stood waiting, the Colonel came strolling up and got in line with us. We talked for a moment, and Bruce mentioned that he hoped he could still buy a ticket to get in. My friend exclaimed, “Colonel, this movie is about you, and you don’t stand in line to see your own movie.” She took him by the arm and marched the three of us up to the front of the line. After they quickly identified him, we were ushered into the theater—he was the guest of honor and they’d been waiting on him.
That night reminded me that the Plaza isn’t just a place to see a film: It is a cultural heartbeat, the kind of space where Atlanta’s weird and wonderful converge. The Plaza, honored as one of our “Best of Atlanta” entries in this issue, is one of the most venerable movie houses in the city—and its oldest. The Plaza’s art deco marquee is a landmark at the corner of Ponce de Leon and Highland avenues, and it’s always been the anchor tenant of Briarcliff Plaza, which opened in 1939 as the first Atlanta shopping center with off-street parking.
By the ’70s, the Plaza had diminished to playing porn films. But unlike so many movie houses of that era, it rebounded. George Lefont—who built a local empire of theaters that focused on art-house and repertory films—bought the Plaza in 1983 and made it matter again.
When Basically Frightened premiered there in 2012, the theater was showing its age. The seats were vintage and often frayed around the edges. It had the aura of a room badly in need of a lot of TLC, a place that had embraced the rough-around-the-edges Poncey aesthetic a little too literally.
Still, there wasn’t a more appropriate setting for Basically Frightened. Bruce had watched movies at the Plaza as a kid. “I love that place,” he told me. “I’ve seen thousands of movies there. The Variety Playhouse used to be the Euclid Theatre; I would go there as a kid, and to the Plaza. It cost a dime to get in.” With his usual uniform of casual slacks and a button-up shirt perpetually half tucked in (nearly always with a condiment stain from lunch on the front), the Colonel and his quirky persona fit right in with the rumpled look of the Plaza.
In 2017, the Plaza was purchased by a group led by Christopher Escobar, the executive director of the Atlanta Film Society, and upgrades were made to the facility, such as installing new equipment and turning the balcony into two small auditoriums. When the pandemic hit, the Plaza showed its moxie. It turned into a virtual theater with online showings, hosted a Quarantine Film Festival, and, best of all, turned the back parking lot into a pop-up drive-in theater.
Through the hard times of the pandemic, the Plaza not only survived but also transformed itself into something vital with some of the most creative programming in Atlanta. The mainstay—Friday night screenings of The Rocky Horror Picture Show with shadow-casting by LDOD—is still there, along with its movie series in partnership with Videodrome, the “Trash and Trivia” series, and screenings that include such extras as postfilm Q&As and costume contests.
Atlanta keeps losing the landmarks that give the city its soul, trading them for anonymous apartment blocks. The Plaza Theatre stands as proof that we don’t have to choose between progress and preservation—we can let the past help define the future.
This article appears in our December 2025 issue.
