There are some experiences that exist beyond generational or timely concerns. A Hawkeye football victory snatched from the jaws of defeat, for example. Not sure if any of my fellow artists watched the game, or were even vaguely interested, but the often-bumbling, ever-fumbling Iowa football team is now 8-0, extending their perfect season farther and longer than any other squad in our fair school's history. I'll be the first to admit that I know very little about the game, mostly just enough to have a manly conversation with my father and my soon-to-be brother-in-law, but my apartment was full of screams as "we" scored a touchdown with no time left in the fourth quarter, coming from behind, to beat the 300 or so Spartans. My girlfriend, who knows even less about American football than I do, was almost more into the game than I was. This is my sixth season following our team, having been a season ticket holder since 2004, and there is definitely something missing in watching it on tv. Going to the games brings smells, sounds, and familiar faces. One of the amazing things about football here in Iowa City is that people from all over come and every kind of Iowan, and every age group is represented. This makes a lot of sense when one considers that Iowa is not represented by any professional sports teams, and that because of this, Division 1 NCAA football is actually the highest level of play in the state. It seems obvious to me that for many people, and I feel that I will likely feel the same way, Iowa football is a lifetime of experience, not something that is done for a few years in your early 20's and then forgotten.
The same, it seems, could not be said for midnight screenings of the Rocky Horror Picture Show. I'm sure there are still many places in this great country of ours that showcase lively nights of the rock opera, but Iowa City, as it has become abundantly clear, is not one of them. Well, not anymore. Anyone that has had the "pleasure" of meeting me likely knows that I studied at this University for my undergrad years. Beginning as a freshman, I saw RHPS at the Bijou theater every year around Halloween, and it is one of my fondest memories. The rushing in on water last year, and the rushing out of my undergrad friends meant that I didn't see it last year, and that was something I had been regretting frequently. That is, I was regretting it until tonight. I took my lovely girlfriend, an RHPS virgin, to the Bijou's return to screening the film, and I was highly disappointed. Anything that is based on audience participation lives or dies by the people who attend, and this can be a death sentence if folks just don't come. My worries that no one would show were calmed when the theater actually turned out to be nearly full. In years past, my dreamlike memories recall sold out shows and lines out the door, of which tonight's turnout was certainly not reminiscent, but there did seem to be enough people that one would not feel self-conscious doing the time warp. While there were quite a few people there, they sat silent during the film, occasionally laughing at things in the film that aren't all that funny, quietly humming along to the songs, and just being bores, if I may say so. An agent of the Bijou tried to break the ice and make it a real RHPS experience by yelling some of the call-back lines, but these were fairly few and far between. Also, it's funny when a whole theater yells "slut" every time Susan Sarandon appears on screen, but when it's one guy in the back row, it's really kind of annoying.
I left the theater feeling sad and, having yelled out some of my favorite call-back lines to a nearly silent theater, a bit self-conscious. My girlfriend told me that it must be a generational thing and that younger people just don't get it anymore. Perhaps, but I'm nowhere near old enough for the that argument to make a lick of sense. I guess we've just reached that point. My parents saw RHPS when they were in college and so did I, but a year or two later, it seems that youth are looking for their own movie, their own experience. I've heard Tommy Wiseau's The Room described as this generation's Rocky Horror, and I can certainly see the parallels, but I really don't think it will ever have the wide spread appeal that RHPS. A new champion will rise, I suppose, to take the crown of Midnight Movie Cult Phenomenon, and I hope that I'm not too old (read: cynical) to enjoy and take part in it. I will be really interested to see what it might be. I shiver with antici...
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
I actually watch half the game at the bar in Sutliff surrounded by a very non-Iowa City crowd in black and yellow who took it very seriously. I tried to imagine what it would be like to be one of the players--a bunch of guys in their teens and early 20s who are essentially prime-time entertainers. Much as I was raised to sneer at jocks, if they are understood as labor they earn very little in relation to the vast amount of money made by the University, NCAA, ESPN, and the manufacturers of black and gold regalia.
ReplyDelete