David Kornfeld’s High Noon

David Kornfeld’s high noon is a pretty great article if you watch movies in Boston theaters.

"David Kornfeld, who runs the projection booths at the Somerville Theatre, is perhaps best thought of as the enfant terrible of the local projection scene. His method of terror is a commitment to top-quality presentation that exceeds what many of his peers consider necessary. He is uncompromising. One elite local projectionist calls him a "mega-nerd," which I interpreted to refer both to his insanely encyclopedic knowledge of the craft, as well as — to a lesser degree — his forthright, suffers-no-fools demeanor. "

"The projection booth in the Somerville's cavernous 890-seat House 1 is Kornfeld's masterwork. Built at a cost of $150,000 or more, it features massive twin Norelco projectors and touches like a recirculating water cooling system and $800 windows that can be easily removed for cleaning (dirty glass can kill screen brightness). Its interior is painted, to his specification, pale blue. "In terms of the picture on screen and the sound you're listening to, I would put that up against any theater you can name. Any one. And I will either equal or better them," he told me. John Quackenbush, who runs projection for both the Harvard Film Archive and the Independent Film Festival of Boston, goes to screenings in House 1 regularly. "It's very close to perfection there," he told me. "It's one of the best places to watch in the country." He puts it in the same league as personal favorites of his like the Coolidge and the State Theatre in Traverse City, Michigan.

Kornfeld says the Norelco "Double A's" in the booth are the best projectors ever made (Quackenbush takes issue — he's partial to the Harvard Film Archive's Kinotons). Designed and built in the early '60s for the esoteric and short-lived Todd-AO film format, they can run both 70mm and 35mm prints at either 24 or 30 frames per second. They are menacing steel beasts painted industrial beige and bristling with add-on tech. Perched at the very top of the steep balcony, they point almost straight down at the screen, which, seen through the port glass, is the size of a postcard. "They were manufactured to tolerances and standards that are unique in projection history," says Kornfeld. "And they will simply last forever.""