That's why I was delighted to learn that here in Seattle, Grindhouse was playing at a Drive-In. Heck, I was just delighted to learn that we have a Drive-In, but the opportunity to see Grindhouse there was perfect.
Rhias and I tried to get a whole caravan of people together, but we could only round up one other car. That's fine, though; the important thing was that we be able to lean out the window and talk to the next car over.
Beautiful, isn't it? The marquee hasn't changed in at least thirty years. Neither has the concession stand or, I suspect, the food inside. I think it's the only place within a hundred miles of Seattle that doesn't sell Espresso. It's perfect. The experience was only slightly marred by the fact that the other two movies referred to on the marquee are Bridge to Terabithia and Are We Done Yet? (the Ice Cube movie that's a sequel to Are We There Yet? -- incidentally, don't you think it's weird that it's a remake of Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House when the first movie wasn't a remake of anything? Can you really do that? Will the next sequel be a remake of Bringing Up Baby?).
The movie-watching experience was perfect. I enjoy Drive-Ins, and not in an ironic way. I love the way the screen looks like a hole in the sky. In Joe R. Lansdale's The Drive-In (which you should read, especially if you're the sort of person who liked Grindhouse), he describes a Drive-In screen this way:
One of six, it stood stark-white against a jet-black sky, a six-story portal into another dimension.
Yeah. Except that the screens aren't all that stark-white anymore, at least not at the Drive-In I went to.
Anyway, we had stale popcorn and suspiciously warm hot dogs, and some Pabst Blue Ribbon (which tastes terrible but looks great on the dashboard so you see it out of the corner of your eye while you watch the movie), and it was great. Absolutely the right way to see the movie, now that theaters all tend to clean the floor occasionally.