I Could Have Been at the Movies
A trip to the drive-in sparked some memories...and a late-stage pandemic realization
A week ago, I did something I hadn’t done for 20 years: I went to a drive-in movie.
Before this year — or maybe still, depending on where you live and what your options are — the phrase “Drive-In Movie” likely conjures up images of the 1950s. Strains of an amorphous doo-wop tune bounce around at the back of the mind; girls are wearing cardigans and skirts with poodles on them; boys are driving; windows are steaming up.
This is not what I think of when I think of a drive-in movie. For me, the drive-in is a relic not of the 1950s and ‘60s, but of the 1990s. I was in middle- and early high-school then, and the 49er Drive-In (cleverly named not for any gold-rush reasons, but for its position overlooking Indiana State Road 49) was a summer destination fit for birthday parties, group hangs, and family nights alike.
It would be a lie to say that these experiences were devoid of any nostalgia for days-gone-by (one needn’t have been alive in the past to feel nostalgic for it — on the contrary, there’s a certain kind of longing that we can only feel for the eras we didn’t live through). But if the 49er was unique, a rare slice of Americana to be hallowed, that was essentially lost on me. When my dad and I drove to Highland to see an indie film at the late, great Town Theatre, THAT was special — we had to drive for 45 minutes to get there! The 49er was just…there. We passed it on our way to church, or Wal-Mart, or the mall. What a trip to the drive-in signified, more than anything else, was something quintessentially Midwestern, maybe even Great Lakes Midwestern: it was finally warm enough to watch a movie outside.
Another thing that kept me from over-romanticizing my youth at the Drive-In: the specific movies I saw there. Here is a short list of films that I recall seeing at the 49er:
Waterworld1 (1995)
Jack (1996)
Judge Dredd (1995)
Congo (1995)
Event Horizon (1997)
In case you’re not a film person, that is a list of infamously awful movies. (I may have seen Contact there too, but supposedly that’s a good one — at the very least, it’s “Certified Fresh,” a distinction none of the above films hold — so I’m dubious.) Most of them are action films, enhanced by the big-screen but easy to piece together if you miss a scene while walking to the restroom at the back of the lot.
In the stewpot of memory, all of these trips to the drive-in have melded into one long night at the movies, getting out of the car to get a better view of the screen, giggling with my best friend, talking to weird strangers on our way to and from the concession booth. It wasn’t until I left home that I learned what a rare rite this was for someone of my generation. It wasn’t until then that I considered how fortunate I’d been to have the 49er. But I can’t say I’ve thought about it all that much in the decades since. Like the theater itself, the memory was just there, a fact of my youth and not much more.
Until last Monday. When I went to a real, honest-to-God, Drive-In Movie for the first time in my adult life. Not Street Food Cinema or Movies in the Park. Not an inflatable movie screen in a parking lot. A real Drive-In.
Some things were different. This one had raked parking spots so that everyone’s car could be angled up toward the screen. Notably, it was not summer, but March (thanks, Southern California!). The movie we saw (Raya and the Last Dragon) was definitely enhanced by the big screen (furthermore, my roommate and I paid less for our 2 tickets than it currently costs to stream the film at home), but it won’t go down in history as a stinker.
Still, despite the differences, the experience was a bit like walking into a distant memory. Or, rather, a whole collection of memories. My roommate and I giggled a lot at the thrill of merely being there, at the fact that there was fresh popcorn and churros and we would be able to eat them safely in our car. At the feeling of being “with” people and yet in our own bubble. The sun set just before the film began, and the sight of the blank billboard of a screen against the cotton-candy sky was objectively beautiful. We each took a photo. We compared them afterward; our two pictures look exactly the same.
Reflecting back on the varied pleasures of this little outing, there’s one thing that’s nagging me about it. I’ll try to explain.
Going to the movies has long been one of my very favorite things to do. I could write a whole essay — maybe even a book — on why that is, but suffice it to say, while you’re at the movies, you cannot attempt to multitask. In that way, seeing a film is kind of like meditating, but fun. In a normal year, I might see 40 or 50 films in the theater. Being deprived of that experience (by both prudence and local mandate) is at the top of my list of minor traumas caused by this pandemic year. That was just as true eight or nine months ago as it is now. That’s a major part of why this recent drive-in visit was so exhilarating; it was only the second film I’ve seen on a big screen since February of 20202.
Thing is, this drive-in I went to? It was there all along. I could have gone to it at any time in 2020 to assuage my big-screen blues. But because I couldn’t go to the movie theater like I usually would, I didn’t go at all. I didn’t try to come up with a compromise. I didn’t want a compromise. I wanted my normal thing back.
What’s more, the drive-in was there, just a few miles away, not only throughout the pandemic, but throughout the past two decades. It took being forced to think outside the (poorly ventilated) box to get me back there.
What else have I been too hurt to compromise on? What lack have I been white-knuckling through, and is it possible that just a little creative thinking could ease the pain of it? I wish I’d thought to ask this question of myself sooner, and more often, about more things than just the movies. But change is only possible in present and future tense. I’ll try to remember to keep asking.
- Marissa
If this sparked some memories or emotions of your own, I’d love to hear from you. Comments are open at flaxbart.substack.com
I think of this film with immense fondness because my mother (who also saw it at the drive-in) loved it. It was never not funny how much she genuinely liked WATERWORLD.
We went to see the excellent MINARI in February at a make-shift drive-in movie in a Santa Monica parking lot. That experience was transcendent in its own way, but I guess it didn’t feel enough like a true drive-in movie to trigger these same memories.