Back in the sixties, when Hugh Hefner still lived in Chicago and my grandfather had a club key, the Playboy Mansion regularly showed late night art films. They may have even started at midnight. Whatever, there was always a large percolator with strong coffee in the lobby of their rather plush, mid-sized theatre.
The art films were pretty much all foreign, all highly regarded by critics. There was no funny bunny stuff at the theatre at all. Nor was there any enforcement of local curfew laws. We went regularly throughout high school, usually at the urging of Bob O'Connell, who had a car, and always when they were showing Ingmar Bergman.
Gosh, we were a serious bunch of kids back then. This was mostly heavy stuff. Even his Swedish comedies, such as Smiles of a Summer's Night, made demands on our attention given their richness of allusion, not to mention their sometimes fuzzy subtitles.
Far and away my favorite Bergman films were two of his mediaeval trilogy, The Virgin Spring, spare and powerful, and especially his The Seventh Seal. Persona, frankly, was beyond me. It may still be beyond me. It was one of the reasons I bought Wood's book--one of series of movie paperbacks which I have never been disappointed by.