Friday, May 21, 2004

I know what the Santa Cruz Police were doing tonight.

But I digress...

The Contessa and I just returned from the Guerilla Drive-In showing of "The Third Man" starring Orson Welles and Joseph Cotton. They projected the movie on the side of a large warehouse and the audience sat on the dried weeds and dirt piles. The crowd consisted of a very typical Santa Cruz crew... lots of patchouli and interesting threads and er, pot 'n stuff. (there was a particular young man who was obviously drunk and he kept going on about Los Altos and the Peninsula and how the North Bay is everything north of LA blah blah and you know what I say? he should go back to his stuffy white enclave, cuz we cruzans don't care) The Contessa and I got cozy on her very commodious lawn chair and blue comforter (the beer, popcorn and nuts added a sense of civilization).

The movie was great, what we saw of it. The script sparkled with such gems as "here's your lipstick, mam" and "Death's at the bottom of everything, Martins. Leave death to the professionals. " Classic Greene. The atmosphere was dark and heavy with bombed-out post-war-Vienna. It was excellent noire, and even dumb Americans to boot. I would love to divulge the ending, but alas, you are going to have to ask the fuzz about that.

While we were deeply engrossed by the action on the screen, a blinding light blazed across the field. It was the police, more lights came out and soon the screen was washed out and the audience started melting into the night. Our fearless MC turned off the movie and announced that the police were going to let him go free if he stopped the show.


So we didn't get to see the end. Thanks, SCPD.

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I blog about life and soup, but mostly soup.