Circumstances prevented me from spending this, my forty-third (!) birthday, in the presence of the people with whom I'd have liked to share it, so I found myself, improbably, at the Yuppie Mall in the Soulless Western Burbs.
Wandering amidst the studiedly casual trophy wives and Abercrombied teens, I stumbled into FYE, improbably thinking they might have a copy of Roger Corman's The Secret Invasion, just out on DVD this week. They didn't, of course, but greater treasures awaited in the Used Disc section.
Paul Bartel's gloriously perverse debut feature Private Parts. Michael Ritchie's gonzo gangster epic Prime Cut, which disappeared from distribution almost as soon as it was released. Albert Brooks' Modern Romance, the most serious comedy ever made. And a Randolph Scott Western triple feature I didn't even know existed, including two much-desired titles from Andre DeToth.
All for under twenty bucks!
I realize many people, not gripped by the mind-scrambling fever of cinephalia--most people, in other words--wouldn't shudder in paroxysms of delight at the prospect of spending their birthday kicking back with an Andre DeToth double feature, and yeah, okay, maybe there's better things to do in what some would call the real world.
But I take pleasure wherever it may be found, and right now Thunder Over The Plains seems like a swell way to round out my day.
