The DRIVE-IN just got real!

Testing "Jaws" in the parking lot: 'I need something in the foreground to give it some scale!'

Well, folks, it’s here. After months of scrimping and saving and cultivating, the Midnight Citizen Drive-in is ready to go. Who wants in?

What is The Midnight Citizen Drive-in, you ask? Friend, I ask you, what isn’t this amazing project, and what can’t it offer the lonely heart movie fan, desperate to escape the ear-blasting, antiseptic environment of the overcrowded Megaplex and all its seat-kicking pre-teens in Team Edward t-shirts?

At its heart, the Midnight Citizen Drive-in is a return-to-form, outdoor guerilla theater that I’ve rigged together with some practical technology and elbow grease. Using a mega-huge marine battery and AC to DC inverter, I plug in the powerful Epson MovieMate 62 video projector, and just park my car in front of a wall. Then, I snap in the nifty FM Transmitter with nearly a quarter mile of range and – VOILA! All you guys have to do is pull up, tune in, and relax nicely to a movie under the stars. 

The Hardware

I’ll spare you the near-one year of drama and heartache that it’s taken to get to this point – wherein I can confidently announce that we are ready to have our first screening of hopefully many.

Of course, it is hard to believe that it has almost been an entire Earth year since my girlfriend Jessica first showed me the Instructable of how to put all this together, and I said, “Hey, that’d be fun.”  Now that I’ve ordered, paid for and tested all the equipment, secured a venue, and performed the obligatory celebration dance (I did this dance in private, of course, and it is the only step of this long and drawn-out process that I will not be posting either a video or image of on this blog), I’d like to start bringing all of you down the rabbit hole with me, and hopefully locate a cult(ure) of folks who understand – as deeply as I do – the simple pleasure of watching a good movie outdoors.

 

In case you didn’t bother to click the hyperlink above entitled “Instructable”, let me just tell you that this whole idea began as a germ of interest one day last summer while Jessica and I were mindlessly cruising the Internet in one of our many prolonged fits of waddle some sloth indoors, hiding from the brutal, wet Alabama heat. In fact, this experiment in stripped-down movie going originated in California in 2005. “MobMov” (also the title of Midnight Citizen episode #48 where I officially proposed this idea for Birmingham folks) was started by College Student Bryan Kennedy, who thought it was a good idea to take all his expensive electronics out to an abandoned parking lot on the grungy side of town after hours, and invite all his friends to come watch a flick projected onto a blank brick wall. 

 

Why he thought this potentially dangerous idea was valid and didn’t disregard it upon initial inspection is beyond me, especially since I immediately agreed with his logic. In short, the experiment quickly became a small-time phenomenon, earning Kennedy plenty of followers and a featured spot on the local news. The event went onto become a movement, inspiring hundreds of MobMov chapters around the globe, and eventually ending up here in Birmingham, Alabama in the summer of 2012. Hey, that’s now!

I’m not sure about you, but to me, the idea makes perfect sense for our fair city – and, hell, the whole darn state as well. Sure, the business of using a projector to watch a movie outside is not such a new one here, and it has certainly been done with better equipment and organizational gusto. Free Friday Flicks in Homewood Park is practically a Birmingham institution, and the new Railroad Park near UAB has “Sunset Cinema”, which has kept me busy in the past with shows like Clue. But the problem here is that the programming is limited and overwhelmingly made for the family-friendly crowd – those folks who mean well, but only go as an alternative to watching the kids pick up and lick any household object they can get their hands on. Even the historic Alabama Theater –  where you could usually find me every Saturday night during the summer from my junior year in high school up until just recently – has compressed their traditions, and this summer, their choices are modest at worst, complete with a Mamma Mia sing-along and not one, but TWO showings of Gone with the Wind.

No, the objective of The Midnight Citizen Drive-in is to really embrace a different kind of way of watching movies, and to not just create the same ole cream and sugar experience of flocking to a park and watching an old movie simply because it is the summer in Birmingham and that’s just what you do. With this project, you can pull up, and – either from the privacy of your own car over your own FM radio band, or gathering with a bunch of people in lawn chairs just outside the door and around a communal radio – enjoy an Au naturale, coffee black flick, perhaps off-the-beaten-trail, and not the kind generally served up to you with a bib and pacifier. In truth, it’ll be just like the Drive-in days of yore, but hopefully without all the backseat pregnancies.  

I really want to make it clear that The Midnight Citizen Drive-in is in no way an intentional stab at pointless nostalgia, although I guess it’s effortlessly in the right spirit. Because of the so-called “hipster” culture that’s permeated the web lately in both dead-on and erroneous form, Nostalgia itself has become a four-letter word, and even though I’m not trying to drum up the old ways of outdoor cinema, I am not going to deny a bit of remorse that it is an art form that has effectively eluded the lifestyle of just about anyone under forty – almost as much as, say, the white wall tire or ten cent Coke with ice. Sure, drive-in’s still exist, and for the same reasons that they used to flourish: the ones that are still open are all out in the country, far from the nearest Megaplex, and they remain there for practical reasons – so that their customers will not have to drive a hundred mile round trip after work. Of course the kind of fare they offer now is distinguishable from what it was like in the heyday of the drive-in; where they used to project onto their white screens any print of a B-picture deemed too bad/horrific/gory/disgusting/out-there and generally perturbing for air conditioning, they now are suited to showing buttery family gook they know will not offend even the most repressed of rural pearl-clutchers.

I still have never been to a drive-in theater. I was born in 1982, when the drive-in was about as dead as Sonny Corleone after being pumped full of mafia vengeance on the causeway in The Godfather. But that’s not to say I haven’t paid careful attention to the death rattle throughout most of my life, and just like Sonny – if you’ll allow me to extend my metaphor – the drive-in refuses to lie down. And even with relentless disappointment – week-after-week, checking the listings, only to see Despicable Me or Kung Fu Panda in its second or even fourth run at the same venue – I still refuse to believe that there can never be another day when I may pull up in the grass and enjoy a true drive-in movie in its intended arena. 

Nevertheless, I’m getting a little impatient. And, so, with that thinking, I give you The Midnight Citizen Drive-in. It may not be the real deal, but just think of it as an old tradition continuing in new form. And did I mention it’s free, too?

No one CARES where you went Pop-Culture antiquing today!

In case you haven't been around lately, I've recently discovered the beautiful tool LIVESTREAM, and for the last couple of days have been workin' hard in front of the ole Dell, searching for cool media to populate a channel with to compliment everything else you've already got here at THE MIDNIGHT CITIZEN. Hopefully, Midnight Citizen TV will help round out the field in defining what I'm trying to do with this web site, which is to create that indescribable feeling of being up late at night; your body may have no where to go, but your mind is open to whatever.

With endless amounts of uploading and converting, downloading and reverting, and whatever else that goes along with it, it may seem needless to say that I am functioning at a certain level of certifiability, and needed to get out of the house for a break, even if it did mean stepping out into one of those humid, stormy afternoons that Alabama is infamous for this time of year.

So I was off into the Birmingham cityscape, which looked a little like the Los Angeles 2019 of Blade Runner in the muggy atmosphere. We decided to start our journey at REED BOOKS, one of these pop culture curio cabinets that's been around for a while but I've never had a chance to check out.

Immediately when I stepped out of the car, I needed only to look at the patented Christmas Story leg lamp in the front window to know I was at a place that spoke my language. How could I describe this place? If John Waters, George Lucas, Tom Wolfe and Walt Disney lived in a house together, Reed Books would be their basement.

I really hate places like Reed Books. But don't get me wrong -- I hate it in the same way many Star Wars fans actually hate their beloved trilogy; if it didn't exist, then they wouldn't pour hours and hours into obsessing over it, not to mention, of course, sinking money into that obsession. This store is full of all kinds of wacky stuff I want permeating the walls of my apartment -- B-movie posters (as well as some artsy foreign erotica fare like the unmissable signage for 17 and anxious), literary classics and modern favorites (their Stephen King section is unparalleled), nostalgic toys and memorabilia, and entire shrines of merchandise and collectables to certain important legends (I must've spent 15 minutes looking at all the Mark Twain crap).

Sure, in the times we live in, Reed Books may really be nothing special. The emerging trend of pop-culture antiquing is becoming a pretty thick chapter in the early twenty-first century lifestyle, about as prominent as iPhones and Facebook (see Stuff White People Like by Christian Lander for proof if you don't believe me). But it's a great experience to get away from all the new, cheap plastic crap the mall sells you and go visit the old, cheap plastic crap they used to -- now, of course, marked up in the neighborhood of 50 percent for the "Oh, man, I remember this" factor.

In places like this, I have to give myself a budget, just like in the old days when the folks would give me 5 bucks to spend on an action figure. Even though it was a bit more than my eight dollar budget, I landed on a rare press kit from the original release of Friday the 13th: Part 2. This worn artifact from one of my favorite camp horror films ever made came with several still shots from the flick, as well as a typed synopsis and cast bio's. Tune in soon to the next show so I can read clips from it. It's gonna get bloody!

While we were in the neighborhood, we decided to popeye on over to second avenue to What's on 2nd, another basement of pop culture curiosities and Birmingham memoribilia, faithfully gaurded by the vicious Jitterbug the Dog, pictured above. (note: this was taken just before Jitterbug snapped out of his dog coma and proceeded in an attempt to transcend the glass and bite my head off)

Unlike Reed Books, What's on 2nd has no particular theme. They don't really shelve just books, but rather, any junk that folks bring in that the man-behind-the-counter reckons may be valuable to someone else.

Exhibit A

A 1989 Batman dinner tray I would've been proud to set my Kool-Aid and Slim Jims on while the old Adam West show played on the TV.

Exhibit B

Well, one paranoid gal's creepy collection of dummies her grandfather bequeathed her might be a spook house engineer's Arc of the Covenant.

In case you're not local, Birmingham folks are always keen to debate their city's attractions -- namely, what there is to do on the North Side. In the 1970s and 80s, Birmingham experienced an extraodinary amount of white flight, when all the folks making more than $25k were fleeing South of Morris Avenue and over Red Mountain to the bedroom communities of Mountain Brook, Homewood, and the like. As can be imagined, a slew of businesses followed suit.

Even though today, there are still enough Out-of-Business and For Lease signs downtown to cover the outfield of Fenway Park, you can't deny some bold entrepeuners and grandfathered business owners are creating a pretty unique atmosphere in the Northern Beltline. After a healthy hour-and-a-half paroosing the junk and the treasures, I settled down with a Root Beer at the Urban Standard, a trendy coffee shop on 2nd Avenue North that knocks any Starbucks right on its kiester, and decided I wasn't done with downtown because there was nothing left to see, but because I wouldn't be able to finish before the stores closed.

That, my friend, is a pretty good sign you're living in an alright town.

MOVIES THAT CAN'T BE SEEN -- "The World's Greatest Sinner" (1962)

Well, it lists "1962" as its release date on the IMDb, only because it has to say it was released at some point. After all, people have seen it. It has to have an origin, right? It mainly achieved status in '62, playing in select theaters at midnight screenings, but that was pretty much it. The truth is, this has still not been officially released, and you CAN'T see it, no matter what you do.

Well, maybe you can break into Martin Scorsese's house -- who ranks it as one of his favorite rock n' roll movies of all time. I'm sure he has a copy. With a little bit of will, you can sneak into his vault, and snag yourself a copy of this flick, one of the most mythologized of all time -- if only for being one of the longest to ever live in post production.

Or, you can hope against hope that Turner Classic Movies might show it, as they did back in 2006, really late at night as part of their Underground Film Series, since discontinued. This is how I saw it, or, rather, think I saw it. It aired on one of those Saturday nights like many I've had in my life; I fell asleep watching some more reputable cinema -- maybe Elmer Gantry, or some nonsense. When I woke up about 2 am, groggy and just coming out of dream state, my senses were overblown by this so-cheap-its-intriguing, black and white nihilism on film. The Guide said it was called "The World's Greatest Sinner", and even though it was almost over by the time I found it, I remained glued to the set until the end, mainly trying to convince myself it was for real. And it stayed with me, so much so that about every six months, I'll check Netflix, Amazon, and even YouTube, to see if I can finally watch the whole thing. No chance.

It's the story and the music that really got to me. An insurance salesman, Clarence Hilliard, played by the director, Tim Carey, himself, quits the 5 o'clock world he was raised to believe in and takes up rock n' roll. Smitten by the art form and the fan base it brings, he decides to turn his following into a political bonanza. And it works pretty good. Obsessed by how far he can take it, he stirs his PAC into religious fanatacism, forming a new socioreligious cult called the Eternal Man's Party, based on the central tenant that there is only one God and that He is man himself. Fueling his foray into this bold venture are the meager savings of old ladies, whom Hilliard seduces and then takes money from using plenty of false modesty. Yes, this latter plot point is probably a huge chunk of the pie in understanding why the flick was sent straight to the underground, and remains there to this day. There is no shortage of scenes wherein Carey initiates cringe-inducing foreplay with the geriatric cat women, in one scene making the passing comment before lips press together, "You're just like my mother..."

In these days when I've become so desensitized to any ill attempt at celluloid philosophy, it's a really special experience when I just have to gawk and say out loud, "Who would make a movie like this?"
Tim Carey. You know him if you're into Kubrick. He was in "Paths of Glory", and if you're a "Killing" fan, you're familiar with the sniper who's hired to kill the horse and lets his racial prejudice toward a parking lot attendant screw up the job altogether. A Brooklyn Native, Carey made a career out of playing the peripheral heavy; he's definitely my favorite thing about the Cassavetes experimental noir, "The Killing of a Chinese Bookie". But it was in 1962 with "Sinner" that he achieved, or, began to achieve, his notoriety as a Rebel Set director. Rough, mean, and mysterious, the flick is probably a fitting tribute to the enigma that preceded his reputation all the way up to his death in '94.

Maybe the best known bit of trivia about "Sinner" is that it was scored by Frank Zappa, pre-Mothers of Invention. Zappa did the music when he was young, hungry, and needed a break. Perhaps Carey got lucky with a music man who was about as biting toward the world as he was, or maybe he just saw him use the bicycle as an instrument on The Steve Allen Show and liked his penchant for artistic ballyhoo. I've never been much of a Zappa fan, just for the mere fact that I've popeyed around on other more accepted artists (most of whom attended the Zappa school), but it seems to me that he was one of the foot soldiers who brought rock n' roll into its own, and his early work might seem an easily marketable item to anyone who's ever listened to the stuff. But, for some reason, someone very powerful doesn't think so, and his work on "Sinner" remains, for the most part, unheard; as far as I know, it wasn't even sampled on any of his posthumous releases, notably "The Lost Episodes" (1996), wherein many of his lost or obscure recordings can be heard, including his work on another largely unseen picture from around the same time, "Run Home Slow" (1965).

Added to the Frank Zappa connection, which increases the mythology of "The World's Greatest Sinner" and intensifies the question of its obscurity, is the broad influence of Carey himself and all his love and glory. When Carey was alive, he was one of the most sought after avant garde actors on the scene, urged by directors ranging from Francis Ford Coppola to Quintin Tarrantino to star in their movies. Coppola asked Carey to star in "The Godfather", for instance, but Carey declined due to another engagement. Of course, fans of the classic film know Coppola was working on a shoe string and sought fresh new faces or tired old vets to fill out his roster, so this, on the surface, might explain why he asked Carey to come in. But then, that idea is debunked when you find out that Coppola asked Carey again for "The Godfather II", still showing his love for Carey after all those Oscars and a bigger budget were granted him. It's hard to determine who Coppola wanted him for. Maybe Clamenza would be fitting, but, then, when you wonder about the horse head sequence, and question whether or not Robert Duvall was really the one to chop up Flicka and plant him in the movie producer's bed, you immediately resolve that, yeah, I could see this Tim Carey fill the loafers of Tom Hagen, easy. Carey declined the role offered him for the sequel, not because he was working on something else, but because he just didn't want to do it. A guy who turns down the chance to be in the biggest movie of all time you really have to watch out for.

Fans of Reservoir Dogs might be interested to know that Tarrantino wrote the crime boss roll for Carey, then, upon production, decided the role wasn't quite right for one of his many idols, so he gave it to another notorious screen rebel instead, Lawerence Tierney. Still, Q dedicated the film to Tim Carey anyway.

I guess its Carey's connection to Tarrantino that truly baffles me about "Sinner"'s permanent location in a warehouse somewhere, shacked up with the Arc of the Covenant. Like him or hate him, Tarrantino has done plenty to raise awareness of the hidden gems and turds of film land. Many flicks Tarrantino has referenced, droned on about in interviews, or just plain ripped off in his movies, have found their way to many a film head's DVD collection. The guy sells movies; each one of his projects can almost function as its own film club, telling its audience what to watch, and what they might like if they like those recommendations. So why hasn't "Sinner", a movie made by a guy who got the most famous film nerd of all to make his first movie, not found some kind of Criterion release, with multiple commentary tracks and interviews by all the folks who saw it at some midnight screening, and were propelled forward by its influence to go out and shoot movies of their own?

Sure, the movie may not be around because it just ain't that good. You can look at the selected scenes below -- about eight minutes of them -- and decide if you could really sit through 90 minutes of this. (Of course, many movies aren't good and still get a release; for crying out loud, they released "Armageddon" in a 2-disc Criterion.) Or, you may not be able to see it because, truthfully, Carey never finished working on it. That's right. While Carey finished the flick in some capacity in the early 60s, he continued working on it until his death. It may just be that he told his estate not to ever release it because it wasn't finished. Or, he took the old George Lucas adage that "no film is ever completed, it's just abandoned" literally. If this is true, then Carey must have never wanted to abandon his opus. He probably believed in it so much, that giving it up for the world to interpret and tear apart might have felt to him a form of child abuse.

Then, is it too far to go if we question "Sinner" as a manifesto? A picture with a philosophy vehemently believed by its maker, like "Triumph of the Will"? Was Carey really serious with the "every man as God" doctrine of Clarence Hilliard, who, in the heat of the film, changes his name to God with a capital "G" and challenges the Creator himself, face-to-face, to acknowledge him as such? Is this why we can't watch this damn movie? Because of its posits that'll still get you knocked out today if you walk into a Starbucks and start spouting them? No, this could only be grasping at the proverbial straws. Manifesto or not, there is no shortage of folks who already believe and preach this, and they don't need propaganda from the '60s to sell at their rallies.

Maybe we just can't watch "The World's Greatest Sinner" because not enough people care, even in the cult film circuit. Rounding 'bout the Internet, this seems the case. There is a Wikipedia page with a short article, and an archived TCM page from when the flick aired its first and only time on the channel five years ago. If you've read this article, and have experienced a modicum of interest in seeing it, then you may already be hightailing it to start up a petition somewhere, or signing your name to one found in the deep recesses of Google. All be told, I do want to see this movie, if only to see the (still) original and fascinating story it promises to tell.

Yes, that is what it comes down to. All of the movie I have to go on are fifteen measly minutes I caught on TV after just having woken up five years ago, and the story, described on Wikipedia and IMDb. I may be able to hold out hope that I will still get to see, or hear, or read this story, as the film, having never been officially released, is in the public domain, and can now be retold in a variety of mediums. In this case, it is really only if the movie is remade that we will finally be able to see it, and Carey, with the film he apparently made a point of keeping ephemeral in the minds of its viewers, or for want of a perfectionism that makes Stanley Kubrick look like a carnival barker, can rest in peace, clutching the reels in his dead, but in-charge, hands.