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July 28, 2006

Vampire in Brooklyn

In which Ben and Andrew discover camp on every corner

By Andrew

Ben and I were among the thousands sprawled across Prospect Park for Celebrate Brooklyn, a Summer-long performing arts festivals. Brooklyn's great, sure — Ben lives here after all — but we were there less to celebrate the neighborhood than catch an outdoor screening of 1931's Dracula to the live tunes of Philip Glass and the Kronos Quartet.

Really, the film is so dull in parts you'd think it's Bergman or Bresson — but no, it's all Bela here (IMDB trivia tells me the use of only diegetic sound is "because it was believed that, with sound being such a recent innovation in films, the audience would not accept hearing music in a scene if there was no explanation for it being there"). The audience rightfully greeted the appearance of Bela Lugosi with a hearty Brooklyn — not Bronx — cheer, but also chuckled at every accented line out of the poor man's mouth, bringing to mind arguments I once had with Lucid Screening's own Greg Ryan on the bus home from highschool. Greg, I recall, was adamant that Lugosi was, in a word, "euro-trash." Whatever that is, it hardly sounds fair — and I offer this post as a forum for Greg to take it back.

While all I know of Bela personally comes from Tim Burton's Ed Wood — and that's hardly enough to judge the man — his performance as Dracula certainly strikes a timeless chord. Backed by Glass and Kronos, that chord becomes a chorus, and new meanings echo off the screen. As Dracula remarks, as if cognizant of the world off-screen, "Listen to them. Children of the night. What music they make." For a few brief moments, we're no longer in the company of camp, but something that feels that much more profound.

At least from what I saw of the film tonight — for alas, New York's summer weather was feeling even more profound. Suddenly, unexpectedly — well, unless you'd read the weather report — thunder, lightening, and then torrents of rain conspired to cancel the screening. Such bad weather actually makes for an even more fitting soundtrack to Dracula than Glass's score, it turns out, but I suppose it's hardly fitting for a city-sponsored event: potential liability was everywhere.

But, the camp did not end there — in fact, as we rushed out of the Park, just ahead of the throng, the camp began piling up like the never-quite-finishing finales in Keanu Reeve's Speed (on our way, in fact, Reeve's Point Break (Straight up masterpiece —Ben) arose in conversation). Ben and I are both sort of out of shape, but we decided to shuffle/jog down the sidewalk anyway. With the lightening striking all around us, thunder roaring in our ears, huffing and puffing, it felt rather reminiscent of Ghostbusters.

Then something — I'd like to think it was illuminated by the lightening — caught Ben's eye. Along the street, propped against all sorts of miscellaneous trash, fresh for the garbage man to collect, there was a frame. No, a framed poster. Wait, no, a framed poster of Psycho. Then the tagline, "Check in. Relax. Take a shower." Sigh, never mind, just 1998's Psycho remake. But suddenly — as the thunder booms above — a realization: this poster has been signed by none other than helmsman of the remake, Gus Van Sant himself.

We know not what transpired, why this poster fell out of love with Leelee and into our hands, but it did. Funny also to note that Ben's apartment features another move poster signed by that Psycho's cinematographer, Chris Doyle.

Returning to the apartment, we settled in and watched Dave Chappelle's Block Party, probably the closest we came to celebrating Brooklyn all night.

"Rats and thunder, wind and hail…" singsongs Anthony Manzini, casting a futile spell as Cap'n Manzini — a similar performance to that of Lugosi's, I'd argue — in The Garbage Pail Kids Movie. Camp? Horror? Chappelle? (There's a cockroach involved too, but that's another story). Just another night in NYC, Cap'n.

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