It was with mixed feelings that I read reports of the inaugural SLIFR Night at the Drive-in with Sam Raimi’s Drag Me to Hell, held the last Saturday in May at the Mission Tiki in Montclair, California. There was, of course, intense longing to partake in such a unique cinematic celebration, alongside vicarious satisfaction for ringleader Dennis* who organized such an exquisite movie event, and veneration inspired by the magnitude of his success: an ozoner billing tailor-made to his sensibilities, plus the participation of not only the local hearse club (!) but also Variety film columnist Anne Thompson, who featured it prominently on her blog (!!). His brilliant one-sheet sheet-cake was, well, icing on the proverbial cake.**
Then there was a flush of aw-shucks embarrassment at seeing your humble narrator named among those Dennis wished had been able to attend, in such esteemed company as his lovely and wonderful wife Patty, BFF Bruce (fellow Animal House alum and a horror-comedy film star in his own right), and pal Don Mancini (no less than the creator of Chucky).
I confess to sulking awhile in June, overcome by regret for missing so much fun, until an extraordinary coincidence offered partial redemption. Turns out the Motor Vu Drive-in up the road in Dallas, Oregon, was playing an unlikely double feature of the most attractive of current attractions on the very weekend I happened to have a rental car. So it came to be that I rounded up a few brave souls and steered a Kia Spectra toward Dallas for a little late-Sunday-night amusement called Up and Drag Me to Hell.
Scott, Robert, and Wil’s Portland contingent mingle before the sundown screening of Up at the Motor Vu.
Pixar’s latest is a charming adventure tale heavily influenced by The Crimson Permanent Assurance and the Miyazaki-verse (Howl’s Moving Castle springs to mind). A curmudgeon determined to realize his dear wife’s dream of a fantastical South American safari inadvertently teams up with a latchkey boy scout pursuing his “assisting the elderly” badge. They encounter a hilarious ensemble of talking dogs en route to paradise. All of which adds up to awesome! I even went gaga for the dodo, probably because she shares a name with my sweet infant nephew. Now I’m left to wonder, where can I get me a pair of those nifty canine voice boxes?
“We must be over the rainbow!” C’est moi clutching a hot cup of joe at the Motor Vu snack bar during intermission. Bring on the hellfire!
Not to be Up-staged, the second feature of the evening also delivered cute animals, though in the form of a hapless goat (a talking goat, natch) and a downright tragic kitten. Drag Me to Hell chronicles the downfall of an ambitious young loan officer, Christine, after she turns away an old witch in dire need of a credit extension (not to mention a brave dentist). This flick alone quite possibly exceeded my annual quota of oral grotesquerie. (I mean, what is with all the gumming?) But the elaborate catfight in the parking garage that precipitates Christine’s curse was riveting. (Sinister parking garages never really freaked me out before I survived more than a few harrowing moments in the concrete underground of Los Angeles. We don’t have them where I come from. Cornfields, on the other hand…) And the delightful refrain of the forest canopy and night sky that transitions to our haunted heroine riding in the car with her beau—wow, it looked especially good on the Motor Vu’s giant screen beneath the stars.
Anyhoo, it seems that Sam Raimi has returned to his Evil Dead roots with this scary comedy (but no Bruce Campbell cameo in sight! The only letdown…) As Dennis wrote (and he’s seen waaaaay more horror films than you and me put together, so believe him), “The bottom line is, if you have any fondness for the horror genre, you will likely greet Drag Me to Hell as some kind of miracle.”
Retro Dr. Pepper as big as your head at the Motor Vu
There you have it, folks: an odd couple of a double bill (see the SLIFR commentary on DMTH’s PG-13 rating), seemingly programmed just for me, and totally worth the sleep deprivation that kicked off the workweek. A thousand thanks to Scott, Robert, and Wil (who wrangled a posse from Portland) for humoring me. And to Dennis, for your infectious enthusiasm. (It’s a drive-in pandemic. Run for your lives!)
*That’s him posing with the hell cake on Variety.com. Also seen boldly sporting a pink lei like a diva’s fluffy boa and touting B movies on location at the Mission Tiki in this trailer for a forthcoming drive-in documentary.
**Having been thwarted in my own geeky attempt to commission a custom cake that would celebrate my plucky colleagues’ hard-won Web development with edible iconography combining the logos of a certain institution of higher learning, one open source content management system, and a ubiquitous Argentine Marxist revolutionary, I hasten to salute Dennis’s successful marriage of pop culture imagery with frosting and chuckle knowingly at that quip on potential copyright smackdown overheard at his DMTH party. Indeed, the Corvallis bakery scene wouldn’t touch my cake design with a ten-foot pastry pipe for fear of infringement.
Glad you enjoyed this spine-tingling double feature. “Up” is on our summer viewing list. We love Pixar (evidenced by our office/guest room with Toy Story theme). I’m afraid that reading Stephen King’s “On Writing” and rewatching “Thriller” is as far as we’ll venture into the horror genre.
Stop making me wish that I was there!
You know, my dear (yes, put your head back on the couch and relax), this problem stems from one childhood moment, a traumatizing event at a vulnerable period. Close your eyes and recall that dread dusk, shut in the station wagon with your 3 younger siblings and that Cruella DaVille of a mum. Visualize Labirynth in all it’s baby theft goblin monster horror on the Garrett Drive-In big screen. Take a deep cleansing breath. Let it go. Now recall your wakeful trip to the Dark Crystal with the more sensible sibs asleep in piles around you accompanied only by your enthusiastic momma, lost in the story, callously unaware of the lifelong trauma she was inflicting. No, please stay, don’t jump! Oh dear. Miss Swinson, next patient, please.
A clarification obviously needed for the too cryptic response above. Thinking the comment a clear comment on my feelings about horror in general, not to mention horror coupled with animation, as a serious problem requiring therapy and the momma obviously the commenter, I stand corrected. I am the momma. The Wise Woman Walking the Web is the eldest child subjected to the twin feature of what turned out to be horror for children, which I suggested tongue-in-cheek as the root of her love of the genre. I struggle with my native inclination to value all variety of tastes in art ( I have a shirt that says “Fear No Art” on an American flag) and my own personal inability to view horror even camouflaged as fun. I am too serious, my brother used to say, and I suppose that may be it. I can’t practice laughing at other’s pain, even fictionally, which of course puts me off of most sit-coms and many films. To quote a stellar novel I just read, “I knew that all children were gruesome, but I don’t know whether I’m supposed to encourage them in it. I’m afraid to ask Sophie if Dead Bride is too morbid a game for a four-year-old. If she yes, we’ll have to stop playing, and I don’t want to stop. I love Dead Bride.” (The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Shaffer). I trust and love so many folks who enjoy horror in art that I’m inclined to let them have it – but always feel compelled to register my suggestion that therapy is in order.
The battered, bewildered, and repentent Momma commenter
Aunt Mary, I think you’ll enjoy the significant canine presence in Up. Isn’t Thriller wonderful? Makes me so nostalgic for being a silly kid who relishes entertainment my mother doesn’t approve of (times haven’t changed much, huh?)
Barry, maybe next time and not on a school night, eh?
ViaLys, I’m seizing on the “maybe I am too serious” of your second comment. Indeed, I most enjoy the subgenre of horror-comedy. Something to do with laughing (nervously?) at “what’s the worst, most outrageous thing that could happen?” to ward off anxiety that it actually might. (Probably also something to do with harmless transgression…) I thought maybe “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” would soften up your sense of horror humor? Or, I don’t know, Shakespeare? Anyway, please stop fretting that Labyrinth and Dark Crystal at the drive-in warped my fragile little mind.
PS (that’s Pedestrian Saga) – I guess the line of horror is drawn for me where there is more malice than in Buffy, which is just goofy, or more exhibitionist than Shakespeare, who treats in chilling reality. It’s the gratuitous pleasure in violent assault that gets the kids to say, “sweet!” when it’s not that stops me. Your reasons are compelling. I trust you. Consider me softened.
Cruella da Mum