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| The projector warms up for night two of Movies At Dog Farm III. All images in this post by Herb Miller. |
So why, exactly, do I do what I do here? To what end? There's no shortage of movie blogs on the Internet curated by passionate and well-informed movie aficionados, so what purpose does the Dog Farm serve? I had a moment of clarity while driving home in the wee hours of Sunday morning, prompted by
an impromptu bullshit session that broke out as I was preparing to leave the Dog Farm following our viewing of
The Sentinel (1977). I should begin at the beginning, though, so let's rewind just a bit further . . .
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| The Beyond The Valley Of The Dolls menu on the screen at dusk. |
For some inexplicable reason I always feel compelled to actually schedule showtimes for these events, and this one was no exception.
Beyond The Valley Of The Dolls (1970) was scheduled to begin at 8:30, just as daylight waned and the woods grew dark enough to fire up the projector. We had watched our movies indoors on the preceding night, but I decided at the eleventh hour to move things outdoors for the second. I was reminded of countless childhood trips to the drive-in, when the air would grow crisp at dusk and the projector would spring to life as the final light of the day gave way to nightfall. Anticipation welled up inside me. Then . . . the start of the show was delayed for roughly an hour as the guests milled around and chatted, waiting for Phil to finish preparing a vat of chili for everyone. As is always the case, the schedule was blown before the first movie began. Lesson learned. I waited patiently while everyone drew their conversations to a close and settled in with their piping hot bowls of chili. We were starting late, but everyone seemed ready now to direct their full attention to the screen.
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| Our makeshift outdoor theater before the start of the show . . . |
I harbored a lingering doubt about sharing
Beyond The Valley Of The Dolls with an audience, and the initial twenty minutes or so made me sweat. Everyone was too quiet. I felt self conscious about laughing at bits of dialog that no-one else seemed to find amusing.
BVD is an odd bird, and I began to fear that perhaps I'd chosen the wrong movie for the crowd. Then there were signs of life. I began to hear politely subdued discussion around me. I began to field whispered inquiries about what we were watching. After a slow start, everyone finally seemed to be tuning in to the campy vibe of
BVD just as the character of Z-Man Barzell exulted, "This is my happening, and it freaks me out!" Apropos, really. The audience became less discreet about commenting on what was unfolding before them, and by the time the movie careened into its frenzied final act
BVD had managed to win over the audience completely. My gamble had paid off.
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| . . . and again after the movies commenced. |
After a brief intermission between films I started the evening's second feature,
The Sentinel. Though
considerably less outrageous, high spirits engendered by
BVD carried over. The evening had grown chilly, but everyone bundled themselves up in sleeping bags and blankets and settled in.
The Sentinel played out like the champion B-list horror show it is, and the audience was engaged throughout. The final credits rolled at around 1:30 in the morning, after which the lights came up and a line formed for the bathroom. I took that as a victory. The audience had been sufficiently involved with what they were watching to hang in there until the bitter end, bursting bladders be damned.
As the crowd started to gather their things and disband, I began to disassemble the AV equipment and load my car for the ride home. Phil Neff and Herb Miller lingered for longer than the others, and we began to talk excitedly about what had just transpired. Herb had enjoyed
The Sentinel, a movie about which he'd been previously unaware, more than he expected. Phil shared with me some details of the crowd's enthusiasm for
Beyond The Valley Of The Dolls earlier in the evening. We started to reminisce about previous Movies At Dog Farm successes -
Pieces (1982) and
Suspiria (1977) in particular. We began to spitball ideas for the next Movies At Dog Farm then and there, even hatching a plot to throw a "movies only" fundraising event later in the summer to finance acquisition of our own projector for future gatherings. I was gratified.
As I drove away, the theme for
Suspiria played on my car's CD player, a perfect sound cue to end Movies At Dog Farm III. I spent most of the hour long drive home chewing on ways to set up that fundraiser we had discussed, and I began to think of all the other cinematic obscurities I still wanted to share. It occurred to me that my usual mode of movie consumption - home alone on the couch watching the movies unfold on a regular old television - is lacking. There's simply no substitute for enjoying a movie on the big screen in the company of an appreciative audience.
I don't really fancy myself a critic, and I tend only to write here about the movies I love. I spend a little
too much time watching these flicks, and I relish the opportunity to share the best of them with friends both old and new. Nothing can convey the satisfaction of hearing a group of otherwise normal individuals enthusiastically sharing their best dramatic renditions of movie quotes like, "You will drink the black sperm of my vengeance!" Presenting these odd little cinematic gems to an audience not predisposed to watch such things is why I do what I do here. That's a simple motive, but I think it's a worthy one. Thanks, everyone, for affording me the opportunity to do so.
