The Myth of Cult

In cinema, the word 'cult' can be a dangerous one. All too often, it's a lazy, catch-all term used to describe a film that is loved by no more than three people, and is invariably shit. At the other end of the spectrum, there's a film like 'The Shawshank Redemption'. No box office success, little marketing, and pretty much no hope, 'Shawshank's fortunes were transformed, thanks to the advent of the DVD market, into one of the most rented, watched, and loved films of the modern era, a movie that began as cult, and became the complete opposite, the very definition of mainstream. 

Don't be fooled, he'd just waded through shit.

'Shawshank' became so nauseatingly popular to the point where I once told someone that I didn't really like it that much, and they looked at me as if I'd just admitted to injecting babies with ketamin. Indeed, to even have such a thing as a 'cult film' these days is difficult, with everything so readily available, transparent, and the potential to have an online following of millions at the touch of a button.
But the emergence of various pop-up and outdoor cinemas over recent years has allowed some of the true cult films to strutt their stuff in front of a contemporary audience in the way in which they were intended. Not on ITV3 on a Wednesday night at 2am after a show about Peter Andre waxing his arse, but on the big screen, whilst sitting on a beanbag next to someone who smells as if they may well have just pissed themselves.

Dear Peter, no-one cares.

Next weekend's Backyard Cinema (http://www.backyardcinema.co.uk/) sees some of these cult films get the outing they deserve. 'Tremors' arrived back in 1990, at the very back-end of the golden era of cult film which included guilty pleasures like 'Labyrinth', the mentally unbalanced 'Re-Animator', and of course 'This Is Spinal Tap'. Given that 'Tremors' is now almost 25 years old, there's unlikely to be many (any?) folk at BYC who ever saw the 'Graboids' (translation: big fucking worms) at the cinema. Of course, it isn't the best flick ever made, and never intends to be. But it's a thousand times more enjoyable than 'Schindler's List' and only half as long. (Yeah. I went there.) And Kevin Bacon is in it. (YOU KNOW KEVIN BACON RIGHT, KIDS? HE'S THE ONE FROM THE 'EE' ADVERTS >).

The 1980's in a nutshell.

BYC will also be showing what, in many people's eyes, is the very film that defines 'cult'. Hard to believe back in 1998 that an independent comedy about kidnapping, drinking, and bowling would go on to become perhaps the most quoted film of a generation, but that's what 'The Big Lebowski' has done. It even has it's own 2 day festival where they show the film, talk about it, and bowl. Personally I think that's taking it a bit too far, but each to their own.

Recent years have seen something of a decline in true cult film. 1999's 'Fight Club' began that way, with awful reviews, dreadful cinema takings, and many campaigns to ban it from the start, but has now been (rightly) recognised as the brilliantly black comedy it is, and not the disgustingly violent and manipulative drivel that Daily Mail readers (my nan) would have you believe. A few years later, and the notorious 'The Room' began it's road to cult status, to the point where the Prince Charles Cinema in Soho still shows it regularly and to packed crowds. Apparently, people take along spoons and talk along to the favourite bits of the film. I would not like to meet any of these people, but I've been told they exist.

Too. Many. Drugs.

But the most frequent examples of the cult film flourish came in the 1970's and 80's. Although well known and highly regarded today, movies such as 'A Clockwork Orange', 'Withnail And I', and 'The Rocky Horror Picture Show' had tricky beginnings, initially receiving only a fraction of the appreciation they now maintain. The explosion of the DVD market two decades ago have made it possible for many forgotten or undiscovered gems to force their way into the public consciousness, and watching this type of film on a big screen with beer and burger in hand is simply an extension of this. But pop-up cinema has it's own rules, people, so abide by these and we'll get along fine:

5) - Put your mobile away. We may not be in an Odeon but I'll still smash up your Samsung Galaxy if it rings again, dig?

4) - Don't lie back too far in a deck chair. If you do, it can take up to 12 minutes to get up again. And don't lie back on a beanbag. 

At all. 

Just don't.

3) - If taking a loo break, remember the toilets may be within earshot of the audience, so best not to be singing Tatu's 'All The Things She Said' as you dry your hands and come out again. Trust me. 

2) - Do not bring plastic bags full of loud snacks such as Pringles or carrots with you. There's rules here, this isn't fucking Vietnam.

1) -  People seem more attractive at pop-up cinemas than at regular cinemas. 

This is because you are drunk.

Hollywood House Party

So, I'm having a dinner party (I'm not, as the house I live in has no communal area, but bear with me), and the one thing I need, more than nibbles, bunting, and an up to date version of Buckaroo, is people. Not just normal people, film people. 'Sexier Than Us Film People'. Imagine 'Come Dine With Me', but with a far richer set of retards. I've only got four other chairs, so who do I invite, and why? 

Considering the first course is probably not going to blow their minds (Big Soup was on a 3for2 in Tesco), I cannot consider inviting anyone who might turn their nose up at my shit venue and entertainment. I should probably invite someone stately, maybe an Anthony Hopkins or Helen Mirren, to keep the whole thing at a certain level. But, to be frank, the place is a shithole and I've heard Hopkins can become a belligerent bastard when there's too much Chianti flying around, so they're a no-go.

It's PARTY TIME

Eventually, just to get the ball rolling, I invite Mila Kunis. She's been on at me for aaaaaages to come round and I've been like 'I'm like, busy" and she's been like "But I wanna like, see you", so in the end this morning I just called her and was like "ok you can come to my dinner party". Like. She is hot but that isn't why she's invited. It's for other reasons. That I currently can't recall. Plus, she was practically married to Macauley Culkin for a while so I should at least have an outside chance.

Home Alone 6 was a bit 'off message'

So, three more. I need a wing man, someone with a bit of wit, someone who can laugh us to the brink of enjoyment. Owen Wilson wanted to come, but I've heard he's still got something of a coke problem and I can't deal with that shit when I've got cheese and pineapple sticks to construct. I look through my contacts. Simon Pegg? Hmmm, funny, but since he hit the big-time he says 'awesome' a lot and plus he refuses to get the 26 bus here after dark. So I settle on Vince Vaughn, I know he's not hilarious, but he always brings plenty of booze and we can rib him about how he 'used to be quite famous. And thinner'.

Shirt and tie would have been sufficient

Now I'm halfway there, need to add some gravitas to this night, someone with a bit of life experience, but who also won't mind playing spin the bottle with some empty Lambrini. Russell Crowe is in town, but he would definitely try and nail Kunis (probably in my room), so that's out of the question. I can't risk inviting De Niro or Pacino as things would inevitably get a bit 'shouty', so I decide to invite Ian McKellen. 

That's right, fucking Gandalf is coming for dinner. Partly because he will command respect and add a bit of high-brow conversation that will leave Vaughn struggling. But mostly because he's gay and so will in no way try to nail Mila. 

Leave some room for the cheeseboard Vince

Now there's only one more seat to fill, and I'm aware of the need to redress the male/female balance here, and I need to aim high if McKellen isn't going to just down the free punch and fuck off to Wetherspoons when it's gone. Michelle Pfeiffer would always be welcome, but is far too classy to walk up Hackney Road without getting hassle so I strike her off the list. Plus I've heard she doesn't like Vienetta so we would probably clash over dessert. I briefly consider offering the place to Jodie Foster, but she seems very serious and would be unlikely to appreciate the moment after dinner when I ask everyone to stick an After Eight on their forehead and try to get in their mouths without touching it.

NOT INVITED! GUTTED!

So, with time running out, and a severe lack of Hollywood A-list actresses in the vicinity of E2, I compromise. Sandra Bullock said she'd be up for it but I think she nicked an ashtray last time she came over so I'm not letting her back in until that situation is resolved. So Meryl Streep gets the nod, her and McKellen will get on like a house on fire I reckon, and she can make jokes that will go way over Vince Vaughn's head to keep us all entertained. 

So there we have it, Vaughn, Kunis, McKellen, Streep, and me. 24 WKD's in the fridge, Um Bungo vodka jellies setting nicely, and 2 packs of Iceland's premium party snack selections in the oven. 

No. You can't come. *

* Epilogue: The night didn't go well. Vince brought Owen Wilson along, Wilson was a bit depressed and so they sat in my room mostly drinking Famous Grouse and playing on my old mega-drive. It also turns out McKellen's whole 'gay thing' is basically a ruse to sleep with women. He had Kunis in the spare room in between the starter and main course. Streep was basically just concerned how I'd got her number. And took home most of the wine she'd brought with her. Rude bitch.