Film Faith Reaffrimed

A classic movie lover discovers he is not alone.

It happened just the other night:

I had my faith in classic movies reaffirmed.

The doubt that spawned this tiny miracle began at the downtown library, when I per chanced a classy DVD issue of D.W. Griffith's Birth of a Nation. Though I was thrilled to see it, its discovery inspired contemplation of the silent cinema, and what little interest it holds for my generation. The films that I grew up on - the black and white talkies that I write about on this site, through my formative years the staple of late night television - will be that, I realized more fully than ever, for the generation coming of age now; already those movies I so treasure are slowly but surely ebbing into the same company as those mute melodramas of Griffith's.

Check your local TV times - that crowded section at the back that lists the week's movies. Look it over; less than fifteen percent of those films were made before 1965. Even as recently as a dozen years ago, this would have been impossible. But the proliferation of channels that comprise TV these days has made first-run fare the way to stay competitive; couple that with the tender age of today's disposable income holders and it's small wonder Classic Cinema is relegated to specialty channels, of which, at that, precious few exist.

Therefore, when I set out for a local park the other night, it was not with any great sense of expectation. The film they were showing was the 1950 classic Sunset Boulevard; it was the latest offering of an initiative started some years ago: a non for profit organization who run films on a screen set up in the great outdoors. It's mostly first-run foreign fare, though occasionally they will place a bet on an old horse.

Imagine my surprise when I discovered a packed house - er, park. Close to 175 people - and most, I am thrilled to report, under thirty. We settled into or low back chairs, munched on whatever we had packed into our knapsacks, and, to the accompaniment of the breeze in the trees and the occasional waft of contraband, watched William Holden and Gloria Swanson trade Truman-era witticisms.

Afterwards, my wandering ear was privy to all of the expected adjectives: "cheesy", "corny", "dated" - but each was emphatically followed by "but a lotta fun!"

Had the conversations been slightly more intellectual, I would have dubbed the experience an outdoor version of the old art house, where, once upon a time, one could get his fix of Studio Era masterworks sans commercials.

That convention, however, has traced the same flight path as the Dodo - a route Classic Film, I'm happy to report, isn't yet ready to take.