directed by Monte Hellman; written by Rudy Wurlitzer, Will Corry, Floyd Mutrux; starring James Taylor, Warren Oates, Dennis Wilson, Laurie Bird
Last night I had such a pure cinema experience I have to lay it out in a narrative while I sideways the movie some. SIFF (Seattle International Film Festival) has been doing an "Open Road" series the last few months featuring movies where people drive around. You can check out my Hitcher (1986) word salad from another in the series.
So they showed Two-Lane Blacktop (1971) last night. One night only. Beautiful 35mm projection in the smallest theater they have, the SIFF Film Center. Place sits right under the Space Needle and has enough seats for 90 brave souls. The risers are bare, cheap wood, the seats are one-size-fits none, and the projectionist could hit the screen with a sneeze. It's great and has that old school feeling of a cheap dollar theater where they show movies with boobs and swearing and if you ask the right employee you might get extra butter or some weed.
"Employee." Ha. Volunteers at SIFF barring a few. Nothing this great is done without love, which makes the showing that much more special.
I get there about twenty minutes early in case they oversold. No reserved seats for the lower class like me, so I found an aisle seat up front in case I had to run for my life. Many were already there, some just showed up, others filing in after waiting for popcorn and beer at concessions.
Enter my cohort for the evening. All friends, all with grey hair and disposable income and rosé on their breath. I have a bad knee and am over six feet in the morning, so I stand to let them pass me by rather than pull my legs up to my chest. Two in front, none beside me yet. Then comes my partner for the evening, a man I thought of as "Randy."
Randy says, "Yep, coming through," and does not let me move. He pushes by me and sits right down in a spray of popcorn. To his credit, he doesn't take the arm rest. I let him have that.
His partner, Loretta, holds the drinks. She waits just a second too long, and I tell her to hold on while I stand. She blocks my effort to get out of her way until I say "Let me out." She gets by, and we are on our way.
And we're starting. Lights a little low, some trailers for other SIFF offerings coming soon. A presenter comes out and gushes about the movie. Good intro, enthusiastic, and full of little tidbits and personal anecdotes. Can't say enough about how much I enjoy listening to film lovers talk about the movies that are a part of them.
Randy and Loretta maintain and whisper among their group. Randy begins shoveling popcorn into his face by the handful, as if he thinks either I or Loretta are going to take it from him. As if he thinks if he finishes it before the movie begins he will win a brand new Tesla pickup truck. Through the trailers he said he was adding each one to his list, a hellish document if one even exists. As the SIFF presenter finishes, Randy's cell phone begins making revving noises because he is a true motorhead who leaves his phone on full volume. He writhes around and pulls it from his pocket to silence it while Loretta laughs and laughs at his silliness.
I see portents for things to come. As I sit, I can feel Randy's urge to throw the pieces of popcorn high into the air and catch it with a teeth-clicking chomp while he grins sideways at his best girl, and she beams.
The movie begins. James Taylor as Driver, Dennis Wilson as Mechanic, Laurie Bird as Girl, and Warren Oates as GTO, all slick as hell driving around and racing cars. Driver and Mechanic have a hell on wheels looking 1955 black Chevy while GTO rides in a brand new yeller GTO with all the bells and whistles. Man, I didn't even know they had cassette players in the early 70s.
Taylor has a ballsy proclamation to one guy as they tempt folks to race making money: "Make it three yards, motherfucker, and we'll have an automobile race."
Right about the point Taylor finds Wilson and Bird having sex, the screen gets real dim. Dark even. I think, "Well, it's an old print and the movie was shot cheap. Maybe they photographed it that dark."
Nope. Move stops, house lights go up. The presenter comes back out, and one of the projector's has lost a bulb, and it's too hot to change. Fair enough. I guess the night's over. Nope, cause we have projectionist extraordinaire Jimmy who is threading the reels through one projector rather than switching each reel back and forth. If we as an audience are game, for each reel swap the movie will stop and Jimmy will thread the next one through. We're down two reels, four to go.
Randy and Loretta and their group are impressed. They call out for Jimmy's love and affection. They say how they know he'll get things going. They need to get up to get more drinks. So I have to get up.
The movie gets going. Randy has more popcorn and shovels it in by the handful. Loretta tries to get some and he playfully slaps her hand. I'm trying to watch the damn movie, not a gereatric date night.
Taylor and Wilson meet up with the liar Oates in his GTO. A race is proposed, from California where they are to Washington, DC where they are headed. They mail the pink slips ahead, general delivery, and whomever arrives first gets both cars. At this point I realized a lot of this movie is the back of James Taylor's head. It's a nice head of long brown hair as the car drives straight and turns left or right on occasion. Something to see, I have to tell you.
Reel five switches off with nothing really to say for the audience. We all took a bathroom break.
The movie continues, and things kinda just happen. At one point, the cops are after our racers. They split up, playing games, and plan to meet up later. Then they meet up later with no footage of outrunning the cops. Now I am aware that neither Smokey nor the Bandit is in this movie, but a little running around would be nice to break the chill vibes that permeate the plot.
The soundtrack was a big reason the movie took forever to get released for home video. Scarecrow video here in Seattle championed for the movie to get a DVD (tidbit I did not get from the presenter), and it went on to get a Criterion and other fancy shit. If you watch the movie, though, the songs sound like weird covers of the originals even though they are damn good versions of classic songs. Also, fuck The Doors and their lawyers.
Our gang heads to Arkansas. A guy questions if they are hippies, but they just want to drive. Then there's a crash and a body covered in ketchup. GTO has been picking up people to help him drive, but they all suck. My favorites are the old lady and the kid with dead parents he takes to the cemetery and the hippie who does not want to hear GTO's lies and asks to be let out. He is not a great hang.
The last switch, the reel six, was when our theater gang decided they were done with modern decorum. Randy had finished chugging his third beer and rattled the remains of his popcorn bag. Loretta reached for the popcorn but found nothing and told Randy so. He laughed. As Warren Oates is telling Laurie Bird they could go off together, build a house in Florida on the beach, Loretta takes out her cell phone and looks up where Oates is possibly talking to Bird. Maybe somewhere in Tennessee according to Google Maps. Then she clicks on a notification. Somebody posted and included her on an Instagram post! Well, she has to tell Randy and show him the funny thing whoever the hell posted on the 'gram. Then respond to them but her wine soaked fingers keep missing the keys and that makes Loretta laugh and laugh.
The movie ends as all movies should: the film burns and blisters and pops to a line of credits reaching toward the ceiling. I stood and left Randy and Loretta to whatever hell I hoped they had getting home. A good time was had by all, but I'll probably show up earlier and move far away from any drunken old people next time.
Check it out.