Son, how can I put this? Sometimes, when a cable installer loves a half-naked subscriber very much, he slides off his tool belt and gives her a “hug.” That’s the kind of love Karl Hungus had for Bunny La Jolla in Logjammin’, and also the kind of love fans feel toward cult-classic The Big Lebowski.
Before Friday’s showing at Screenland (1656 Washington, 816-421-2900), one of the theater’s hosts asked the crowd a really hard trivia question: “In the scene where the Dude is laying on the carpet with his Walkman, what’s written on the index of his mix tape?” (To see the answer, turn your computer monitor upside down and then turn it upside down again.)
Answer: Side A was labeled “VENICE BEACH LEAGUE PLAYOFFS 1987.” Side B was labeled “BOB.” You can see this in a quick close-up in the film. One guy in the audience actually had the answer; he won a bowling trophy for for his frankly spectacular exhibit of video pedantry.
The show was attended by many such Little Lebowski Urban Achievers, most of whom were perfectly happy to watch the film without obnoxious public displays of retention. But I was sitting behind a — how do you say? — fat, lonely virgin with a goatee. He punctuated climactic moments and favorite lines with an excess of theatrical body language, as though he were doing some kind of interpretive dance based on the film. Dude, I get it. You’ve watched it a thousand times. You must be a devil with the ladies. But despite your display of autism-grade hyper-attention, you still didn’t get the trivia question, did you?
Oh, the movie was awesome. It must have been either a flawless print or a digital projection. And the White Russian drink special was great. I’m just saying: You might think your favorite films belong to you. But you know those guys from school with the black trench coats, Steven Seagal ponytails, Serenity T-shirts, fingerless gloves and Indiana Jones hats? They own your favorite films.
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Fantastic post, thanks. Would you expand on the third paragraph in a little more detail please?
Damn straight. If you don't have some sort of wholly creepy trait, like always wearing fingerless gloves and greasy hair, you can't possibly own a movie, metaphysically, at least. You can at best watch it.
It's like communism... You have to let those who need it most have it.
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