ROAD SCHOLAR used to be a big rental at the video store I worked at in Atlanta. I never disliked the movie, but I always found it a bit condescending towards its interviewees. I attributed it to the fact that no matter where he was from, the narrator/star, Andrei Codrescu, still comes across as a stereotypical intellectual elitist. I mean, for god sakes, he gets Allen Ginsburg to bless the trip. One problem I had was that there were so many other positive things he could have turned the spotlight on but he chose the more freaky people as a way to ridicule America. Another problem I had upon reflection was that the movie itself completely misses, what I think, is one of the most unique American pastimes: attending the drive-in theater.
Considering the car motif and his desire to find the true America, thiswould be a natural shoo in for inclusion in the film. Codrescu was obviously in this country when the drive-in was still popular so how could he miss this American institution started by Richard Hollingshead in Camden, New Jersey back in 1933? Thinking about this made me want to go to the drive-in here in Jacksonville, The Playtime Drive-In on Blanding Boulevard, which has been in operation since 1948. GRINDHOUSE was opening and a perfect cinematic fit since the films contained within, PLANET TERROR and DEATH PROOF, tried to replicate the American exploitation films that were tailor made for the drive-in crowd and inner city movie palaces that found themselves short on supply with the proliferation of the multiplex. And by the way , quit using the word grindhouse. Makes people think you only read Maxim or The New York Times. Plus you may get drunkenly punched in the face by my compadres, Jimbo and The Murph.
It was a perfect night for the drive-in. The sky was clear and the air was cool. The show started at 9:30 but I figured I'd get there a little early and stake out a decent spot. The Playtime is pretty dirt and I mean that literally. To set the scene, the rows are grass and the areas to drive on in between can't remember what asphalt looked like. The marquee has these thin slide-in plastic letters that seem to blow off with a decent breeze. It advertises GRINDHOUSE as GRINDE.
Pulling up to the ticket booth, there's a little black felt sign with the slits you can stick white letters in advertising tonight's movies. The choices are FIREHOUSE DOG, ARE WE DONE YET, BLADES OF GLORY, DEATH PROOF and PLANT TERROR, which is not my typo. The lady at the booth asks me what movie I want to see and I tell her GRINDHOUSE. Taking my money, she flubs, "Screen 1...no...3." I get my ticket and the flyer that tells what time each movie is playing, the radio station the sound comes through on and on what screen the movie is playing. The flyer indicates GRINDHOUSE is playing on screen 2.
All the new movies released on Friday usually play on screen 3, which is the biggest one. Since the info is skewed on which screen GRINDHOUSE is actually playing on, I go with the aforementioned mental reference and drive over to screen 3. The drive-in is packed tonight, which is a heartwarming thing.
I think of Andrei Codrescu, sitting in his ivory tower or pontificating about poetry on NPR. No way he’d lower himself to spending a night under the stars with us lower middle class rejects too stupid to realize the same movies are playing right down the street in a modern megaplex. After a few moments driving around, I find the perfect place to park up front and head to the concession stand for a Coke and a confirmation on GRINDHOUSE’s correct screen showing.
The concession and projection are in the same rickety old garage looking building and stepping into the place is an absolute time warp. I grab my Coke and the guy who's usually doing the cooking takes my money. I ask him very politely on what screen GRINDHOUSE is actually playing:
GUY: (gruff and loud and white trash southern) It says #2 on the flyer!
ME: Yeah, but the ticket booth lady said “Screen 1...no...3"
GUY: (rolls eyes) Pssh!
There’s no real answer to my question, just the guy being a complete fucking asshole.
My perfect spot is useless so I fire up my old Mazda MX-3 and slowly maneuver through the potholes and broken glass to screen 2. I actually find a decent spot off to the right and get situated. Screen 2 was the last screen erected several years ago and is awfully makeshift. Since there was never any real schematic for actual spaces, people just park anywhere they please and hornet’s nest doesn't even begin to describe the nightmare that this area of the drive-in can be. Off to my right, in a field of weeds sits a decaying motor home. I've never noticed it before and it's creepy as hell.
Being early, I'm forced to watch the last hour of FIREHOUSE DOG. Anybody who knows me knows I'm a sucker for funny animal humor and boy, does this have it in spades. I tell you, when the dog gets taken away from the kid by his real jerk owner and later he hears the kid’s dad’s fire truck drive by and jumps from a high rise balcony onto an awning and bounces off , landing on all four paws, then runs after the fire truck and they see him and the music swells and all the firemen yell “Come on, Boy!” and he jumps, in slow motion, onto the back of the fire truck, well damn it, I almost cried like a baby. As a whole, the film is competent but is incredibly juvenile and unexciting. With so many kids’ movies today that have proved themselves more sophisticated, FIREHOUSE DOG is kind of like that kid who really doesn’t have a learning disability but somehow gets stuck in the remedial classes every year. The credits show it was directed by Tom Holland, director of FRIGHT NIGHT and CHILD’S PLAY, writer of CLASS OF 1984, PSYCHO II and THE BEAST WITHIN. What the fuck happened there?
Then come GRINDHOUSE. The movie starts and the trailer for a fake action film called MACHETE is squished. The projectionist has got the wrong aperture lens on. I figure, maybe they’ll notice it, but of course they don’t. After 15 minutes, I goto the concession stand to let them know. There’s a girl working the register who looks like Mo’Nique and old It’s-On-The-Flyer Guy is back flipping burgers. There’s a good number of people in the concession stand and the burgers actually smell good. I step up to the register and inform the girl that I think they got the wrong lens on because the picture’s squished:
GIRL: (Covers eyes with hand in exasperation and turns to Flyer Guy) There’s a customer saying the picture on GRINDHOUSE is all squished.
FLYER GUY: (turns around, spatula in hand, speaks in condescending tone) It’s supposed to be that way. It’s GRINDHOUSE.
ME: I think you got the wrong lens on, man. It ain’t supposed to look like that.
FLYER GUY: It’s GRINDHOUSE.
ME: But it’s still not supposed to look like that.
FLYER GUY: It’s GRINDHOUSE. It’s a drive-in movie. YOU AIN’T SEEN NOTHING YET!
I really can’t believe I’m having this conversation. I really can’t believe he thinks I’m that stupid. I just say whatever and go back to the car.
After getting back in the MX-3, I watch the film in all its squishy glory for about 5 more minutes and decide I’m going to get my money back. I was all stoked to see this at the drive-in and now it’s ruined, but I stop myself and say “Hubbs, yer being a little bitch, just like Flyer Guy.” Then the film does that thing where the frame slips and you can see the frame line in the middle of the screen. This puts the actor’s eyes and nose at the bottom and his mouth and chin at the top. I don’t know what this is called but let me know if you do. For now I’ll just call it annoying and annoying goes on for 5 minutes. To hell with this, I say…then it gets fixed, and so does the aperture lens. From then on, it’s pretty smooth sailing until after PLANET TERROR, when they just shut the projector off. These people are nuts, but at least I get to go to the bathroom.
While in the bathroom, I have all these really mean and elitist thoughts about how much of a jerk that guy was and how much he deserves to be flipping burgers in a ramshackle drive-in. Then I think that maybe Andrei Codrescu wasn’t so wrong after all. These freaky people do dot our lives everywhere and anywhere and when we least expect it, there they are. I should embrace their kookiness, not project my own personal insecurities on them. So in retrospect, ROAD SCHOLAR takes on a whole other life for me now and beckons for another viewing. As I head back to the Mazda for DEATH PROOF, I silently offer apologies to Codrescu and Flyer Guy for my judgmental ways. For the record, DEATH PROOF sucks the balls but the car chase and stunts are pretty fucking killer.
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