Interstellar (2014) made its well-known debut last weekend. In Chicago, the film (yes, we can still call it that) screened in its “intended” format of 70mm at the Navy Pier IMAX. Its appearance there and at other such venues was predictably celebrated by old school cinephiles as yet another defiant declaration of celluloid’s continuing value in a culture of cinema that has increasingly done away with the old medium. Meanwhile, just across the border in the nearby state of Wisconsin, the so-called “end of film” was also marked that same weekend by a very different, less celebrated, event—the closing of the Keno Drive-In in Kenosha, Wisconsin, for the season, and most likely, permanently. In many ways, this was a more apt snapshot of film today—as well as the value in fighting for it—than Christopher Nolan’s high-profile blockbuster.

The arrival of Interstellar did little more than reiterate that celluloid’s use going forward will largely be as a high-end, niche phenomenon (confined to museums more than IMAX). And the rhetoric around film’s aesthetic superiority, frankly, obscures as many important questions in the digital age as highlights (a debate which will continue being pointless given the endlessly shifting technology). But the closing of the Keno—one of hundreds closing down in the last month or so across the United States—is more representative of the digital transition’s impact on the economics of film. Like many independent theatres, drive-ins often cannot afford the expense of converting from older 35mm projectors to digital ones (to say nothing of imminent maintenance costs)—an issue the studios and several major chains have forced by going almost exclusively to distributing movies as Digital Cinema Packages (DCPs).

“Of the 366 Drive-in theatres left in the United States,” Variety reported in 2012, “only a handful have converted to digital projection; another 10% are expected to convert before this summer.” Last year, this led to “Project Drive-In,” a campaign funding by Honda to provide the funds necessarily for digital conversion to the rare few drive-ins that won a nationwide voting contest (a drive-in in nearby McHenry, Illinois, was one such lucky recipient).

The Keno wasn’t nearly as fortunate—though its situation is admittedly somewhat different. While the operators of the drive-in were willing to cover costs, the shift to DCP is forcing the issue of land repurposing (including the persistent rumor of a certain “Big Box” retail mega-store). The repurposing means that The Keno is a business which risks having a projector—but no screen.

Still the value of the many closing Kenos of the world are worth exploring further—and beyond just the reassuring nostalgia offered by loving tributes such as the Going Attractions (2013) documentary. The digital conversion reveals at least one darker truth underlying the too-often-utopic rhetoric of digital cinema—innovation is not making things “easier” or “cheaper” for most people involved in the many aspects of the movie business today. Studios save considerable expenses on distribution costs, of course. Lisa Dombrowski highlighted how the “digital [conversion] will produce an 80 per cent savings on direct releasing costs [. . .] (a digital print costs between $100 and $300, while a 35mm print averages $1200 to $2000 more).”

Yet these savings have not “trickled down” to the smaller theatres dependent on 35mm—or to the audiences that pay an increasing premium on all tickets. The same can be said of independent filmmakers and others who may benefit from short-term savings in production and distribution, but will also find it increasingly difficult to get recognized or obtain a livable wage. In short, as with all market shifts in the age of late capitalism, this is simply an unsustainable long-term, financial situation.

So, it’s easy enough to look at the rampant nostalgia today surrounding the drive-in’s imminent demise—where all but a small handful will soon be Wal-Marts—and dismiss it as little more than a wistful longing for a bygone era of Americana that’s neither here nor there. Indeed, that does seem to be the city of Kenosha’s “brand,” as it were—a former auto town, with its historic Women’s Professional Baseball League-era stadium, its four museums in a twelve-block radius, its boxcar diner, its countless drive-in restaurants, or its still functioning Streetcar system. But there is also value in how the nostalgia for New Deal liberalism can be less about returning to the past, and more about using that utopic sense of history to shape something better, something more viable, still to come.

In this post I wanted to espouse the opposite, to advocate for the opportunities to consume media outdoors, namely for the chance to go to the drive-in movie theater. Most drive-ins maintain the seasonal schedule of being open from Memorial Day to Labor Day (end of May-beginning of September) deeming summer the peak time to attend (at least in Northern and Midwestern US states). While the chance to watch films under the stars can be re-created at home with a white sheet and a projector (as my neighbors and I often do on our shared balcony), in parks, and on rooftops, there’s something unique about going to the drive-in, even on bikes! And it’s not just about the blockbuster doubleheader.

Summer at the drive-in in particular is full of high school kids making out in their parents’ cars, the slight smell of engines, grass (sometimes the naughty kind), sweat, and concession stand purchases. So far this summer, movies like Prince of Persia, Robin Hood, The Karate Kid, Going the Distance, Grown Ups, Shrek: The Final Chapter, and Toy Story 3 are scheduled to dominate the screen. Under recognized is that the drive-in is a great place to catch the films you missed in the first run theaters for a cheaper price. Though very few drive-ins maintain the traditional policy of paying per car rather than per person, nevertheless the cost of a ticket buys you two movies for less than the price of one at a multiplex. Additionally, most of these theaters are independently or family owned enterprises, so supporting these local businesses might not be such a bad thing in and of itself. But if the films and the price don’t tempt you, here’s a few other reasons to go forth and patronize your local (or not so local) drive-in while it’s still around.

To start, you’ll be sitting in a piece of history and a dying breed of theater. Though opportunities to watch movies outdoors have expanded in recent years, the outdoor theater as an institution has decreased. Though there seemed to be a resurgence and rescuing of the drive-in during the early 2000’s, the experience of attending a drive-in (beginning in the 1930s and exploding in the 1950s) is steadily decreasing as these theaters continue to be demolished or close their gates each year. Those that suffer this fate are being replaced by mega stores and multiplexes that can take advantage of the large plots of abandoned turf. There’s an unavoidable nostalgia at the drive-in not only for that particular form of theater and experience of movie-going, but also in the glorification of the automobile, the centrality of the radio (though the oldest theaters exclusively used speakers mounted to poles), and the promotion of the night out at the movies as event.

While for some, taking in two varieties of stars simultaneously – the stars of the screen and the sky – might be magical enough. There’s also something intriguing and ethereal about tuning in your radio receiver to a movie soundtrack that’s only accessible at a boundaried geographic location. Additionally, the drive-in coincides with and complicates the trend of “mobile” media, or the act of taking media outside and consuming it on the go, (at the drive-in you’re away from home, but purposefully stationary in a vehicle made for transit). This type of theater offers the patron a unique sort of shared experience – sitting in individual vehicles and watching a shared movie partially echoes Williams’ mobile privatization in some respects. Yet, however you may theoretically interpret the experience there just aren’t too many places within American society that we leave our house and pay a fee in order to be alone, together.

While watching collectively at an indoor movie theater gains you access to reactions by a crowd of people you don’t actually know (which I admittedly love), the privacy of the car allows you to talk to your companion(s) about what you’re watching and interpersonally react to the scenes on the screen without appearing rude. The semi-private, enclosed space of the car allows you to eat or drink whatever you want as odorous as it may be, let your kid go a little wild, bring your pet, answer a phone call (though I don’t recommend it), or spend quality time with your family or a date (without having to worry as much about PDA etiquette in the latter case).

So check out some tips for first timers, find your screen and hit the road!