After Earthquake, I worked up the courage to go down and harass Harry Knowles for an autograph. I don’t really know what I was expecting, but he was very gracious, personalizing it and writing “It ain’t cool that this is the last night at the Original Alamo! [...]]]>

Part 3 – Night Warning

After Earthquake, I worked up the courage to go down and harass Harry Knowles for an autograph. I don’t really know what I was expecting, but he was very gracious, personalizing it and writing “It ain’t cool that this is the last night at the Original Alamo! He also drew his signature doodle of his face, and signed his name. Geek heaven. While he was signing, they threw a few more blasts from the Earthquake sound system our way, and I got the full effect of the subwoofers at relatively close range. I think I’m sterile. Here’s hoping, anyway. I also noticed that the only ceiling tile that had come loose was directly above Harry. No biggie; the novelty hard hat would protect him. I stuck around long enough to wish him luck on his upcoming wedding and collect my autograph before triumphantly walking back to my seat where I attempted to explain to my uncle who Harry Knowles is, and why it’s a big deal that I got his autograph.

During the break, they showed at least 30 minutes of sex and gore clips from various movies, with what looked to be a little bit of porn mixed in. It was an interesting sociological exercise; every woman either laughed or shrugged it off, while every man was in a state somewhere near hypnosis. At that point, I could have easily watched another 3 hours of it. I saw lots of movies I recognized, but even more that I really want to see.

But alas, that wasn’t the case. And actually, I’m better off for it. The last movie of the night was some real, honest-to-god nightmare food, and I’m glad I got to see it in a crowded theater. I’m going to save all discussion of Susu until tomorrow, so I’ll get right into the movie.

Night Warning is like a cross between Psycho, Mommy Dearest, Misery, and Friday the 13th with plenty of incesty goodness and overacting to go around. Susan Tyrrell plays Cheryl, aunt/adopted mother of Billy(Jimmy McNichol), whose parents die at the beginning of the film in spectacular fashion and under cloudy circumstances. But that was 14 years ago, and Jimmy is a perfectly well-adjusted jock with a hot girlfriend and a crazy aunt. His problems revolve around deciding where to play college basketball and occasionally mixing it up with a young Bill Paxton. At this point in his career, Bill’s acting arsenal was pretty sparse, seemingly limited to holding his wrist and squeaking, “Foul! Foul!” repeatedly. Everything goes south when aunt Cheryl’s wiring gets a little frayed, rendering her more and more batshit with every scene. She’s less than enthused that Billy is getting ready to run off to college, and goes to some pretty fucked up lengths to prevent him from doing so. Sure enough, a local repairman winds up dead, and Detective Joe Carlson (Bo Svenson) is on the case. Svenson is the only character in the film capable of chewing the scenery as well as Susu, and he doesn’t disappoint. To wit:

Detective Joe Carlson: I took a look at this fellow Brody. Seems he was fairly athletic. Why didn’t he pin you down on the couch?
Cheryl Roberts: He tried, but I got away.
Detective Joe Carlson: Now you said he touched your boob. How?
Cheryl Roberts: I refuse… to answer anymore of your questions.
Detective Joe Carlson: Lady, I don’t give a shit what you do.

After the movie, we had another brief Q&A session with Susan, and then commenced to tearing our seats out. It took some doing, but we gradually emptied the place out, and I’ve got four green velvet-seated seats from the original Alamo Drafthouse. It was pretty sad to see the place close down, but what a way to go out. In a few months, they’ll be opening a new one a couple of blocks away, in the old Ritz location. From what I hear, it’s going to be much nicer, and will have multiple screens. The wheels of progress are rolling along and all that shit, but even so, it’s still a little sad to see such a cool place close down.

Tomorrow: Susan Tyrrell

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 [...]]]>

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