Last Night At The Alamo Drafthouse (Part 2)

Part 2 — Earthquake

After Big Night, Harry Knowles presented ADH founders Tim and Karrie League with a painting of the original Drafthouse by local artist Gordon Jones. While this was going on, and Tim was introducing the next movie, the staff was passed out yellow hard hats. Tim explained that the waiver we had signed and the hard hats were necessary because of the insane sound system that they had constructed for this movie, and because 10 years ago Tim personally installed the drop ceiling in the theater and did “a shitty job.” We also learned that they specifically chose this movie and created the sound system as a final “fuck you” to the neighboring clubs, who had subjected moviegoers to years of “shitty, badly programmed, techno music” on an almost nightly basis between midnight and two. I can really appreciate that Tim is a guy who likes to do things right.

Earthquake was awesome. From the hot chicks (Geneviève Bujold, Victoria Principal with an afro) to the murderer’s row of actors (Chuck Heston, Ava Gardner, Lorne Greene, George Kennedy, Richard Rountree, and a scene stealing cameo by Walter Matthau), the completely bizarre storylines (Marjoe Gortner anyone?), to the bowel-melting, Sensurround-powered earthquake sequences, it was a perfect film to watch in a raucous, crowded theater that looked like it could come down at any moment. We loudly cheered obscure names in the credits, howled at George Kennedy’s hard-nosed cop character rescuing a puppy, and nearly brought the place down over Victoria Principal braless in a tight t-shirt. It’s the only way to watch a movie like this.

It was during Earthquake’s opening credits that my uncle’s cellphone rang. This was bad. ADH is renowned for actually tossing people out for not turning off their phones; they have some great promos on the subject. His phone immediately drew the wrath of a legion of black t-shirt clad film geeks, who chose to scream that he should either die, or that someone should kill him. My uncle, ever eager to make new friends, yelled back that they should go fuck themselves. I’d be embarrassed, but sadly, that’s how we roll. Ok, I’m still embarrassed. Later in the movie, after a particularly violent tremor, someone picks up a phone and tells the camera that the phones are out. My uncle pounced on this, yelling, “Mine works!” The same people that wished him death an hour earlier were now firmly in his corner. Ladies and gentleman, my uncle, Dale Carnegie.

Tomorrow: Night Warning