A BRIEF HISTORY OF FILM

October 16, 2007

I’m on a bus with a bunch of college students. A female announcer tells us we’re on our way to pick up a very special guest and then whisk her away to a ceremony where she will be honored. As our bus pulls into a parking lot, we see the woman waiting to be picked up. It’s Angelica Houston.

I start to applaud when I see her, and a few other boys on the bus follow my lead. A butch looking girl yells at me.

"Don't clap, she's not even on the bus yet. Faggot."

"Stupid dyke," I mutter under my breath.

John Waters, who is also on our bus, tells us that part of Angelica’s surprise is that she gets to be in his new movie, and that she “doesn’t even have to wear make up!” He plans to film her in her natural state.

Angelica, who is dressed smartly in a green suede mini skirt and matching jacket, with a leopard print blouse and shoes, seems unaware of the bus. She is escorted into the back of an emergency response vehicle, which will be used to transport her to the ceremony. The back of the vehicle is made completely of glass so that those of us on the bus can observe Angelica as we follow behind.

The vehicle also contains two identical strippers with blond hair, dressed as nurses with the top buttons of their uniforms opened widely, exposing their lacy undergarments. Angelica is confused by their presence, but seems genuinely game to go along for the adventure.

As the bus follows the emergency response vehicle up the street, I find my self hanging on to the bumper of the ERV, being dragged along like a kid bumper hitching in the snow. I peer through the glass to get a better look at Angelica, but I’m careful to hide my head when she looks my way so that she doesn’t feel preyed upon.

At the hall where the ceremony is taking place, Angelica begins a lecture on the history of film and the “millions of images” she’s assembled into a “cinematic mosaic.” As she speaks, her body jerks around like Joe Cocker or Patti Smith, and I momentarily think of Candy Slice, the Smith-like character Gilda Radner played on “Saturday Night Live.”

Her body jerks more and more violently, until she no longer resembles herself, but instead looks an awful lot like Catherine O’Hara. Catherine disappears quickly, and I see that the stage is filled with movie memorabilia: costumes, props, magazines, head shots, scripts, etc. The woman in charge of the display is Kathleen Turner.

As she tries to sell her wares, Kathleen speaks nostalgically about old movies. I muster up my courage to ask a question.

“You must have something there from one of your movies…Maybe ‘Peggy Sue Got Married?’”

“Why, yes, I have something right here.”

She displays a white peasant blouse adorned with colorfully embroidered flowers, incredibly bright greens, and reds, and oranges. Next, she hands me a pair of enormous clunky metal earrings.

“These were made for my character when she got out of rehab by Zelda, played by the great Barbara Harris,” she tells me.*

“How much?” I ask.

“Twenty five pieces of silver. I’ll send someone to pick up the money tomorrow.”

Accompanied by a male classmate, I scurry out of the hall with the earrings. As we leave, the earrings become larger and more colorful, almost like tree ornaments. I ask my classmate, “Do you think she meant twenty five cents or twenty five dollars?”

We make our way to the Whole Foods in the basement of the hall. The earrings have now morphed from ornaments into large tin basins with brightly painted scenes. I think to myself, “a cat could sleep in here, but it would need a cushion from the rough edges.”

I pick up a plastic container of chocolate chip cookies and brownies, but decide not to buy them because of the dead roach stuck to the bottom of the plastic.
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*Although the "great Barbara Harris" was indeed in "Peggy Sue Got Married," her character's name was Evelyn, not Zelda. And Peggy Sue didn't go to rehab either.