10 August 27 - september 2, 2026 dallasobserver.com DALLAS OBSERVER Classified | MusiC | dish | Culture | unfair Park | Contents A drive-in, on its way out After 13 years in business, Fort Worth’s Coyote Drive-In movie theater announces it will close on Labor Day. BY PRESTON BARTA A nother piece of local magic is sun- setting soon. On Aug. 17, Coyote Drive-In announced it will screen its final movie on Labor Day, Monday, Sept. 7, closing the projector for good after 13 years under the North Texas sky. The reasons are practical. According to the press release, the closure ties directly to the Trinity River Vision and the long-awaited Panther Island project. Under the drive-in’s original lease with the Tarrant Regional Wa- ter District (TRWD), the agreement would end once construction began on two new ca- nals and a 3-acre park. With that milestone arriving this fall, TRWD exercised its right to terminate the lease. Concrete and canals are coming. The screen goes dark. Coyote opened in 2013 with a boost from investor Jimmy Buffett, and it quickly be- came more than a novelty. It hosted a Buffett concert, a high school graduation, an out- door ice rink and Fourth of July fireworks shows. During the pandemic, when indoor theaters shuttered and hope felt thin, drive- ins offered a rare, safe joy — and, briefly, it seemed the format might roar back for good. “When we opened Coyote Drive-In, we hoped to create more than just a place to watch movies; we wanted to create a place where families and friends could come to- gether and make lasting memories,” manag- ing partner Glenn Solomon wrote in the release. “Your support made Coyote Drive-In what it became, and we will always be thankful for the role you played in our success.” Solomon singled out Chris Fortune, who has served as general manager since the drive-in opened, calling him “the heart and soul” of the place. Fans felt that heart. One commenter on Coyote Drive-In’s Facebook page said it plainly: “I love taking my kids there. It is the absolute best theater experience in Fort Worth.” They’re right to mourn. Drive-ins turn or- dinary nights into events. Watching “Harry Potter” under real stars makes every spell feel a little more believable. Seeing “Twister” on a windy day will make your heart beat a little faster. New releases, retro screenings — it all lands differently outdoors. Coyote’s loss stings more because the re- gion keeps shrinking its options. The Lewis- ville location closed in 2018. Once Coyote goes dark, only two drive-ins remain within reach: the Galaxy Drive-In in Ennis and the Brazos Drive-In out in Granbury. So, consider this your last call. Between now and Sept. 7, there’s no shortage of rea- sons to make the trip. Families can catch “Paw Patrol: The Dino Movie” or “Toy Story 5.” Those after something more grown-up have “Spider-Man: Brand New Day” and “The End of Oak Street” to choose from. And still on the horizon be- fore closing night: the next “Insidious” in- stallment and “Coyote v. Acme,” which, given the circumstances, feels almost too fitting to pass up. ▼ FILM TRUTH ABOUT THE TRINITY ‘DEEP IN THE HEART 2: TEXAS RIVERS’ DOCUMENTARIAN BEN MASTERS SAYS OUR INFAMOUS RIVER DOESN’T GET THE LOVE IT DESERVES. BY PRESTON BARTA B en Masters grew up in the Texas Pan- handle. So, it’s a little poetic that a kid from the driest corner of the state has become the person asking all of us to look harder at what flows beneath our feet. His new film, “Deep in the Heart 2: Texas Riv- ers,” is a sequel to his 2022 wildlife break- out, but calling it a follow-up undersells it. The first film wandered the whole Texas menagerie. This one narrows its gaze to the rapids that course through it. As native nar- rator Ethan Hawke tells us in the opening minutes, “Texas is a land shaped by water.” A love letter to a river we keep insulting Masters admits the Trinity has an image problem. Ask most Dallasites about the river cutting through their city and you’ll get a wrinkled nose. “The Trinity is often kind of looked at as a dirty river, but it’s a wonderful, vibrant river ecosystem — a badass ecosystem, re- ally,” Masters says. He put in the boot time to back it up — filming waters just east of Dallas, chasing alligators downstream and trapping through the Great Trinity Forest. It’s one of the largest urban forests in the country, hiding in plain sight behind a sky- line.”If you go 10 miles downstream of Dal- las, it is full of 200-pound fish that can grow as old as a human being, and is teeming with otters and wood ducks and mussels — just this incredibly amazing, diverse ecosystem that is really special,” he says. He also wants to dismantle one persis- tent myth.”Whenever you see water that’s turbid or not clear, it just means it has a bunch of sediment, and sediment has nutri- ents and nutrients make a ton of life,” he says. “Just because you can’t see more than 6-to-8 inches of visibility doesn’t mean that it’s not healthier than the most pristine, clear stream you’ll ever encounter.” That’s why Dallas earns one of the mov- ie’s final shots. Masters wanted to give the Trinity its flowers — and nudge the city a lit- tle. He points to Fort Worth’s riverfront am- bitions and openly wishes Dallas would bring the same hunger to restoring its own green spaces below the floodplain. There’s a personal Dallas thread stitched through the production, too. The film’s score — composed by Noah Sorota — was recorded and performed by the Dallas Chamber Symphony. The music swelling behind those mountain lions and mussels has a local heartbeat. Rivers as storytellers, not just scenery What separates “Texas Rivers” from a pretty nature reel is how much history it carries downstream. Masters was struck by the depth of legacy. “We have recorded murals that predate the Bible by 4,000 years, that predate the Egyptian pyramids,” he says. “I felt like it was important to start the film with a recog- nition of how long Texas has been inhabited, not just by people, but by extremely com- plex cultures that were long lasting and suc- cessful. And the same as we do today, they lived on, and depended on, rivers.” The White Shaman mural — a creation story painted at least 2,000 years ago — de- picts light emerging from darkness and the birth of humankind. That’s the movie’s quiet thesis: rivers aren’t just where life happens. They’re where meaning happens. “Every bend tells a story,” Hawke nar- rates. Masters simply follows the bends. ▼ Culture Preston Barta The last day to catch a movie before the screen goes dark at the Coyote Drive-In is Sept. 7.
