Drive-in Movies - Ape Shall Not Kill Ape

I went to a drive-in movie recently. The last time I went to a drive-in movie was, I think, in 1970, around 47 years ago. What a shame this delightful experience is so little known today.

My thanks and a nod of acknowledgement to the Mansfield Drive-In in Mansfield, Connecticut, where my twin brother John and I relived the experience of our eight-year-old selves.  Back in 1970, we saw a double feature of Doris Day in With Six You Get Eggroll (1968) and The Boatniks (1970), which I mentioned in this previous post about drive-in movies.

The Mansfield Drive-In has three screens, with double features playing on each.  Our double feature was War for the Planet of the Apes (2017) and Wonder Woman (2017).  We didn’t finish the second movie as it was getting into the wee hours and we had an hour drive home.  By that time, I confess, I was a little weary of violence and simplistic characters that would entertain a child or someone with the mind of one.  Not that I don’t applaud Wonder Woman’s getting her due on the big screen—hurray for the girls—but she’s still no match for Tracy Lord, Stella Dallas, Ilsa Lund, or Mildred Pierce, if you get my drift.  Margo Channing would have chewed her up and spit her out.  Heck, so would Birdie.

As for the Apes, I noticed that though the makeup and CGI combined had made the ape creatures incredibly realistic compared to the original series, the script was much more inferior when it came to dialogue or any kind of message, or indeed, any kind of point at all.  There was actually very little dialogue.  The new movie follows the ape leader Caesar on an act of revenge with no purpose.  It is left to others with more sense to save the ape colony.  The original Planet of the Apes (1968) I had blogged about last summer when it came to the big screen at the local cinema as part of the Fathom Events partnership with Turner Classic Movies was not as sophisticated technologically, to be sure, but it had a far more literate and intelligent script.  This is from my blog post on that experience last year:

The other thing that surprised me was how the themes in this much-parodied pop culture movie-turned-“franchise” have remained relevant: the ape council’s rejection of science because it threatens the power of a fundamentalist government, the refusal to acknowledge truths that are not politically convenient, the cycle of prejudice and subjugation. Rod Serling wrote the script based on Pierre Boulle’s novel, and Serling's introspective and intellectual imprint is all over this movie.  There is a late 1960s feeling of the exhilaration of rebellion, without all the tired dystopian bilge we are beaten over the head with today.

When Charlton Heston comes upon the half-buried Statue of Liberty and screams his last lines, I’m sure all in the theater were quite familiar with the end of the movie, but there was still an awed silence, then the audience erupted in applause.  

I am still tired of dystopian bilge.  I find its parallel with the current fascist regime in the White House and Congress to be appalling, and yet is somehow something we have allowed to happen by our lack of meaningful entertainment, our shallowness, and lack of a true spirit of adventure, despite our ape leader trudging through the snow to kill his enemies, and despite Wonder Woman leaving her island paradise to save mankind.  As a society, we have gotten lazy and stupid. Instead of taking charge and defining our era, we have sat back and allowed it to define us.

Hey, TCM, hey Fathom Events...what I'd love to see is some classic films on the drive-in screen.  Can you do that?

What I found totally unexpected and quite charming in this drive-in movie experience was the pre-movie 1950s and 1960s music on the FM frequency we were to hear the sound from – no more speakers on your car door (we brought our own radio so as not to drain the car battery) –and also the classic TV commercials that reminded us Boomers of the heyday when drive-ins could be found pretty much anywhere.  There are no more drive-in theaters in my area – the closest are the one in Mansfield, Connecticut, and another in New Hampshire—but back in the day there was one in my town and several more within probably five miles.  They are all shopping plazas now.

Next on the screen, another totally unexpected delight, was the classic “Let’s all go the lobby…” promo cartoon and the audience in their cars and lawn chairs erupted in cheers and applause.  It was not for the quality of the grainy 70-year-old cartoon urging us to go to the refreshment stand “and have ourselves a treat” that they applauded.  It was for the memory of simpler joys and being too young then to really appreciate them.  

I did see a little girl in her jammies, and that was cute.  I remembered those days, and having to be carried into the house by my father when we got home because I had fallen asleep in the back seat.  

But I also saw a grown woman in pajama bottoms.  Well, I’ve seen people wearing them at the post office, too, so I don’t know if she expected to fall asleep or that was just what was in her closet.

Between the two features, we got another ten-minute burst of a “Let’s all go to the lobby….” adventure with the well-dressed, white, middle class American family who ate refreshment stand goodies like goats eating the lawn, and large hot dogs and cups of soda coming to life and dancing for us.  It would have been surreal, except that it was so comfortingly familiar and innocent.  It was the kind of stupidity that didn’t make one angry; it made one smile.

Interesting that nobody clapped for the science fiction characters who had adventures in our place—not representing us but substituting for us; the audience applauded the dancing popcorn cartons and the voracious cartoon family that could not get enough treats.

Perhaps more than the apes and humans seeking revenge on each other, I enjoyed the black sky full of brilliant stars.  The Big Dipper hung just over the top of the screen.  The summer night air was heavy with scents from the woods nearby and freshly cut fields, and maybe bug spray.

We left before we got too tired because if we had fallen asleep, nobody was going to carry us into the house.

Oh, my God, I’m home! You maniacs! You blew it up!

I recently saw Planet of the Apes (1968) on the big screen at the local cinema as part of the Fantom Events partnership with Turner Classic Movies. This has apparently been a popular series, with several releases every year for the past few years, bringing the novelty of classic film viewing back to the big screen.

This is part eight of our year-long monthly series on the current state of the classic film fan.

Though I regard a 1968 film as “too new” to be a classic, in this respect, I think I was not alone: the age demographic of the audience surprised me. I had expected a larger audience of young male sci-fi geeks. Instead, there were mostly middle-aged and senior citizens, I would say equally divided as to gender. Along with a younger couple that brought a few kids, the total audience numbered probably 25 people. 

It was a fun experience, and Ben Mankiewicz’s interview with “Dr. Zaius” before and after the movie made me laugh.  Except for the crack about Dr. Zira going to Smith College, which brought a few chuckles from the audience (Smith College is in my neck of the woods), I think I was the only one really laughing my head off through the whole thing. A rather dour mob. New Englanders. Probably brooding over the winter to come.

The other thing that surprised me was how the themes in this much-parodied pop culture movie-turned-“franchise” have remained relevant: the ape council’s rejection of science because it threatens the power of a fundamentalist government, the refusal to acknowledge truths that are not politically convenient, the cycle of prejudice and subjugation. Rod Serling wrote the script based on Pierre Boulle’s novel, and Serling's introspective and intellectual imprint is all over this movie.  There is a late 1960s feeling of the exhilaration of rebellion, without all the tired dystopian bilge we are beaten over the head with today.

When Charlton Heston comes upon the half-buried Statue of Liberty and screams his last lines, I’m sure all in the theater were quite familiar with the end of the movie, but there was still an awed silence, then the audience erupted in applause.  Though I enjoyed Mr. Mankiewicz’s and “Dr. Zaius’” vaudeville act at the end, it sort of wrenched one out of the really stunned moment at the end of the movie.  I think I would have preferred the TCM studio-filmed epilogue played straighter and not for laughs at this point, maybe an interview with someone connected with the production.

I have seen the other “apes” films, including the newer ones that are really nothing but CGI, lightweight and without the, forgive me, “human” feeling of the original series, and missing the theatricality of the original.  I can remember seeing one of them where computer animated characters bounced through a traffic jam of cars on a bridge, and the image was so irritating – like someone flicking something in your face to grab your attention – I closed my eyes. I like being able to explore the screen, drink in the image, and not have to flinch at constantly flashing images created by people who apparently have attention deficit syndrome and must think I do, too. 

I don’t.  Knock it off.

They are meant to appeal to a younger generation where video games are the main entertainment, and who apparently have a fondness for gray tones.  And revenge.

I wonder how many other people in the audience were regular viewers of TCM? Were any of them wondering who this guy was interviewing “Dr. Zaius”? Would the teen and twenty-something male sci-fi geeks whom I had expected to be there have any familiarity with TCM? Would they understand that I could enjoy the novelty of seeing a movie from my childhood nearly 50 years ago, on the big screen, and yet not call it a classic because it was too new?

How many of you have attended any of these Fantom Events series of classic films in your local cinemas? What did you think?

My local cinema is actually in another town.  My town once had some four or five second-run movie theaters, favorite haunts of three generations, small quaint palaces of enchantment, and all gone now.  We had a drive-in, too, once, but gone now.  I drive back across the river to my own town without any movie theaters.  (“Oh, my God, I’m home! You maniacs! You blew it up!”)

Just the word “Cineplex” depresses me.

Not that I mind watching classic films on TV; that’s where I first discovered them.  I think I’ve mentioned here before that when I was a very young child, I imagined what would be my perfect old movie watching experience: I would have a big cardboard box where there would be a screen inside on one wall, and a little low seat inside for me to sit and watch.  A door I could close.  I could press a button and watch any movie in the world I wanted.  There would be another button to push that would dispense any kind of candy.

I think I came up with this idea when that inevitable sadness overtook me after watching a movie to the end credits and knowing I might not ever see it again.

What strikes me is that I seem to have envisioned something like a VCR-function of this box to play movies at will; and that I apparently created what would be a solitary environment, though there were many movies (like the Three Stooges shorts) that I preferred to watch with my twin brother.  I could never have imagined watching them on a big screen with many other people in the audience, like in the old days.

The candy angle to my invention needs no explanation.

If you had your druthers, and could watch a classic film in any format, what would you like?  A subscription service where you could pick your choice out of hundreds of titles?  Watching on your computer, your iPad, your TV? Do you prefer Blu-ray, or DVD? Is large screen, or portability more important to you?

Would you attend classic film festivals if they were smaller, less expensive, and closer to your hometowns? What would you like to see programmed at these festivals?

Or would you just rather sit inside a cardboard box and watch Manhattan Melodrama (1934) in complete solitude, with any kind of candy you want?  Do you want to do the programming?

Past posts in this series here:

Part 1 of the year-long series on the current state of the classic film buff is here: A Classic Film Manifesto. 

Part 2 is here: Cliff Aliperti’s new book on Helen Twelvetrees.

Part 3 is here: An interview with Kay Noske of Movie Star Makeover.

Part 4 is here: Evolution of the Classic Film Fan.

Part 5 is here: Gathering of the Clan at Classic Film Festivals.

Part 6 is here: John Greco’s new book of film criticism: Lessons in the Dark.

Part 7 is here: Tiffany Vazquez, new TCM host.

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Come back next week when we continue our series on the depiction of fascism in classic films with Keeper of the Flame (1942).

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My audio book version of Ann Blyth: Actress. Singer. Star., narrated by Toni Lewis, is now for sale on Audible.com, and on Amazon and iTunes.