The movie that taught a whole country to look at the ocean differently.

1975, two hours and four minutes, every one of them earned.

Watch it the way it was meant to be watched: outdoors, windows down, the score coming through the radio.

A love letter to two-lane America written by people who still remembered how to drive one.

2006, an hour and fifty-six minutes, paced like a slow afternoon in Radiator Springs.

Bring the kids. Roll down the windows. Let the dashboard hum along.

A small goat finds out he was built for the wide open court the whole time.

2026, an hour and forty minutes, with Steph Curry in his first voice role.

The kind of underdog story that plays louder under an open sky than a multiplex.

Sword fights, rodents of unusual size, true love. The fairy tale that meant it.

1987, an hour and thirty-eight minutes, written in the rhythm of a grandfather reading aloud.

Watch it the way Fred Savage did, half-believing it's a story being told just for you.

Wax on, wax off. A New Jersey kid learns the only stance that matters.

1984, two hours and six minutes, every roundhouse earned the hard way.

Pack snacks. Roll the windows down. Stand up at the crane kick.

A high school anthem about taking the morning back. Save Ferris.

1986, an hour and forty-three minutes, every truancy form forged on screen.

Watch from the front seat the way Ferris watched everything: like he owned it.

The brothers in red and green head for the stars on the biggest screen they will ever fit on.

2026, an hour and thirty-eight minutes, a love letter to a generation of Nintendo Saturdays.

Drive-in distance is the right distance for a movie this loud and this bright.

Maverick. Goose. Aviators in the chrome. The volleyball scene.

1986, an hour and forty-nine minutes, every G-force earned at sound barrier.

Tune the radio, lean back, let the afterburners come through your dashboard.

Judy Hopps and Nick Wilde are back chasing a pit viper across the prettiest skyline animation has built.

2025, an hour and forty-eight minutes, the highest-grossing animated film ever made.

A bedtime story-sized adventure on a screen the size of a barn.

The hero who taught a whole genre how to fly. Cape, score, John Williams pouring in.

1978, two hours and twenty-three minutes, every red-and-blue frame earned.

Watch the planet save itself the year your parents were sitting in cars like yours.

A super-villain with three orphan daughters and a yellow army that just want to help.

2010, an hour and thirty-five minutes, the start of the Minion empire.

Family-sized comedy on a family-sized screen, the way it was meant to land.

A girl hops into a robot beaver and discovers what the animals were trying to tell us.

2026, an hour and forty-five minutes, Pixar back at the top of its game.

Bring a blanket. The end of summer is the right time for a story about listening.

Summer lovin'. Sandy and Danny and a hand-jive choreographed within an inch of its life.

1978, an hour and fifty minutes, the soundtrack you already know by heart.

Sing along from the parking lot. That is how you watch a musical at a drive-in.

The witches finish what they started. Defying gravity ends here, on a screen this big.

2025, two hours and eighteen minutes, every note Elphaba was holding back the last time.

The musical conclusion you wait until dark for.

An overprotective dad duck, an island family vacation, one wrong turn over Manhattan.

2023, an hour and thirty-two minutes, voiced by Kumail Nanjiani and Elizabeth Banks at full charm.

The last show of the season is a family flying south. Make it your last drive-in night of summer.