My Grindhouse Days

I’ve seen a lot of seedy movies in a lot of seedy venues in my time, but the so-called grindhouse that looms largest in my memory is the Plaza Theater, which occupied the corner of Union and Redwood Avenues in scenic Paterson, N.J. until it was demolished in 2001.

(Caution: "salty" language follows.)

I was introduced to The Plaza in the fall of 1977, shortly after I started attending William Paterson College, which was located in nearby Wayne. I had been taken under the wings of some of the older guys at the college paper, fellows who numbered bad movies as among their favorite things. Our little band’s ringleader, the late, great “Diamond” Don Markle, enjoyed nothing better than getting way stoned and, say, catching a 2 A.M. airing of They Saved Hitler’s Brain on Channel 9.

Don sometimes rhapsodized about making his own exploitation flicks—his never-to-be epic Blue Water, White Kelvinator was to climax with the tossing of his old refrigerator over the nearby Paterson Falls. Back when Paterson was still a thriving industrial center, The Plaza was an art-deco gem. But by ‘77 Paterson was severely depressed, much of it a semi-urban slum. It was in such dumps that even its criminals were enervated—the one time I was mugged there, my “assailant” was a glue-sniffing hunch back who offered me a whiff of his paper bag, demanded my wallet after I demurred, and punched me quite lightly on the nose after I demurred again. And the Plaza had become a hole—I can’t recall the concession stand being open there, ever—that showed kung-fu triple features by day and horror/sexploitation double features by night.

So naturally it became one of our favorite hangouts. The first bill we saw there, or so I recall, was Horror High and Dracula’s Dog. Horror High was the real deal—trashy and stupid and inept as all get out, while Albert-Band-directed Dracula’s Dog (featuring Michael Pataki and a slumming Jose Ferrer) was dullsville in the not-so-grand Band tradition. A tradition I had little knowledge of at the time. (As far as the IMDB is concerned, though, I couldn’t have seen Dracula’s Dog when I remember seeing it, around Thanksgiving of ’77, as the IMDB places its release date as June of 1978. I can still hear Don, as plain as day, in his stentorian-announcer voice, heralding the glories of “Horrrrrur High AND DuuuuuhhhRRacula’s Daaawgg” which he absolutely could not have done in June of ’78, as by that time he was dead, killed by a drunk driver. Who got six months of license suspension, if I recall correctly. But, as we see, recollection can be a funny thing. And so can the IMDB.)

The following fall I moved into an apartment a block up from the Plaza, and forays became more frequent. Men of means by no means, my pals and I often found that a dinner of frozen ravioli followed by a joint followed by a walk down to the Plaza could constitute a cheap AND memorable night out.

It was there I saw Argento’s Suspiria for the first time, screened, in the fashion paid homage to in Rodriguez and Tarantino’s Grindhouse, with a full reel missing. The movie doesn’t make any more or less sense complete, incidentally. (And I still love it.)

But the Plaza was not regarded by most of its patrons as a place of discovery, a sacred vessel of cinema, or any such thing. More than once I saw guys walk in with blaring boomboxes perched on their shoulders—and they would leave them blaring in the aisle. The talking-back-to-the-screen was largely ubiquitous, and pretty consistently entertaining. One commentary during the middle of the appalling Nazi Love Camp Number 27—not to be confused with the appalling Love Camp 7—was particularly memorable.

In Nazi Love Camp Number 27, the young Jewish woman Hannah (played by the late Sirpa Lane, who previously starred in Borowczyk’s The Beast—if you have to ask, don’t) is forced into prostitution by the title, you know, Nazis, but before that, she’s in some kind of prison…and the corpulent lesbian warden of the place wants Hannah, but Hannah isn’t having it, the warden condemns Hannah to death, and at the execution site a Nazi captain’s there, and he sees Hannah, defiant to the end, spit in the warden’s eye, and this captain, who says he likes Hannah’s “spunk,” orders the warden to release Hannah into his custody. He takes Hannah home, stands her in front of a small, square, low-to-the-floor glass coffee table, and orders her to strip. She does. Hannah strips an awful lot in the movie, if I recall correctly.

“And now, “ the captain says to her, “I vould like you to meet Axel!”

This was too much for the guys sitting behind us, who broke out into giggles.

“Axel!” one of them wailed. “That’s either his cock, or his dog!”

Yeah, could go either way. This Gestapo sicko was just the type to introduce a human female into his canine’s harem. Nicknaming his johnson seemed right up his alley as well.

In short order a big German shepherd, who could not have looked less interested, wandered into the frame. The actress playing Hannah feigned terror and started circling the tiny coffee table in a panic. The shepherd, finally taking his trainer’s cues, began to amiably chase the woman.

Again, the guys behind us were beside themselves, as were we. “Sheeeit,” one of them chortled, “my dog never had it so good!”

As Michael Weldon, Bill Landis, Jimmy McDunough or, for that matter, Quentin Tarantino would no doubt tell you, experiencing grindhouse movies in actual grindhouses was a whole different ballgame than seeing them on video or recontextualized in nice revival houses. I’m glad I got a grindhouse education well before the bourgeois “so bad it’s good” ethos became ubiquitous. Other media types were not so lucky as I. Back in 2003 I went to a press screening of Tarantino’s Kill Bill Vol. 1. Filling up the row behind me was a group of casually well-heeled individuals whose resentment that the whole room had not been put aside for them was palpable. Their ringleader was paging through the press notes and commenting loudly on them. “Does anybody know why he cast Uma in this?” he asked nobody in particular. “Does anybody know why he didn’t cast somebody who could open?” Okay, I thought, here’s a guy who clearly hasn’t been paying attention to the way Tarantino makes his movies or stage manages his image—e.g., part of the whole point of being Tarantino means you don’t have to cast someone who can “open.” Then it occurred to me that the guy just wanted to demonstrate that he could use the word “open” in that Hollywood player sense. As the kitten in that odor-killing-cat-litter commercial says in a comically high voice, “Whatever.”

Further paging through the notes, he came upon the part that said Tarantino intended Kill Bill as a, yes, homage to the grindhouse pictures he loved in his youth…

“What’s a grindhouse?” the guy almost yelled. “Has anybody heard of a grindhouse? Does anybody know what a grindhouse is…”

Now you all know about backstairs humor, where you think of the great line you should have said...way too late to actually say it? Well, you don’t have to believe me but I swear I had this line ready to go as soon as he had asked the question for, like, the fifth time: "A grindhouse is either a theater someone like you would never be caught dead in, or never leave alive."

I turned around. The word "A" was on the tip of my tongue. Then I realized who the guy was. And I swallowed. And turned back around.

Professional courtesy—or what my friend Cinephiliac (who witnessed the non-incident) not inaccurately calls a disinclination to burn a bridge that in point of fact does not even exist—inhibits me from naming him here. (Or at least naming him here in any obvious way.) In any case: his loss.

Comments

[cinetrix]

The word "A" was on the tip of my tongue. Then I realized who the guy was. And I swallowed. And turned back around.

"A"? O, [great] Scott! You *are* cagey.

[Glenn K.]

Ar ar ar.

But, no. I would know Mr. Scott on sight right away. And Mr. Scott knows, knew, what a grindhouse was, is. So.

I will give one bone to would-be solvers: ignore punctuation.

And know, to quote Eleanor Bron in "Help," I can say no more.

[Aaron Aradillas]

If you Google Mr. Kenny's review of Kill Bill: Volume I he gives a more obvious hint to his this person was. Here's the URL:

http://www.premiere.com/moviereviews/1270/kill-bill-vol-1.html

I am The Blind Warrior. I see nothing but know all.

[G. Kenny]

Damn. Forgot all about that. You are good, A.A.
But this puts a bit of a crimp in the word game I've been proposing. The actual surname of the party in question is in the above post for anyone to find.

[Aaron Aradillas]

Just trying to do my part to make moviegoing and movie critics safe for democracy.

[Aaron Hillis]

Wow, I finally found the hidden name, and I knew what it was before playing! You're too clever by half, GK. Ain't nobody gonna figure that one out.

Finally saw HOT FUZZ tonight, which delivered in every way that GRINDHOUSE disappointed for me. Tarantino & Rodriguez are happy enough just making the references, while Wright & Pegg use the references as a jumping-off point for something unexpected, modern and hilarious. It's a shame that HOT FUZZ won't make six bucks in the U.S., unless people put it together that the single best minute in GRINDHOUSE's 191 is Wright's fake trailer for DON'T.

[Griff]

Glenn, while The New York Times seems not to have reviewed DRACULA'S DOG, the movie did play in the NY/NJ area at the end of March, 1978. Since posters and stills for the movie bear a 1978 copyright and its National Screen Service number is 78/022, it probably did premiere in the U.S. in the first quarter of '78.

[Juan Gonzalez]

What a trip down memory lane.

I grew up in Paterson and I used to go to the Plaza theater as well. I was introduced to my first Bruce Lee movie in that place. The movie was the "Chinese Connection" and I'll never forget how the audience went nuts over Bruce Lee. The Fabian theater was another Cinema I would go to. I totally agree that the Grindhouse experience was a symbiosis of the movie and the audience.

[Jerry Libby]

Today, Tuesday, April 22nd, 2008 is Diamond Don Markle's 30th aniversary.....aka his death day. I met Don in Jan. 1973....at the the then WPC CoffeeHouse. I knew about Don's interest in Hitler-but not in his movie ideas. Don was one the best friends I ever had. I was was lucky to drive the first non funeral home-related car to his grave site in Hanover, NJ! He used to sing a Libby song-in my honor. It went...."when eyes goes to Hebben....I will met that Libby, Libby, Libbaaaaaah"! I miss Don a lot and it sounds like that those that knew him....miss him as well!