Photograph by Kevin A. Roberts
If the spirit of the midnight movie was established by The Rocky Horror Picture Show, it’s been sustained by filmgoers’ zombie-like willingness to visit a theater at the witching hour and stare red-eyed at a big screen filled with blood, skin, women in prison, and the walking dead. What’s come to be known as grindhouse isn’t as much a film genre as a one-size-fits-all raincoat that covers more than just a single body of work. The term comprises ’70s horror, low-budget action, biker movies, and badly dubbed imports. The foundational era was the ’70s and early ’80s, a zeitgeist Andy Triefenbach, booking agent for the Hi-Pointe’s Late Nite Grindhouse series, refers to as the “Wild Wild West” of filmmaking. And one weekend every month, you can see exactly what he means. The Hi-Pointe Theatre cinematically transforms into an indoors, carless drive-in—or, if you prefer, the kind of sticky-floored midnight venue that once grew wild in Manhattan. For now, though, it’s kind of an experiment.
“When we started it,” says Triefenbach, “I basically went up to Brian [Ross], the co-owner of the Hi-Pointe, and asked him, ‘Hey Brian, do you like horror movies at midnight?’ We just came to the agreement that we would try it out for a little while and see if it worked. Our first movie was a newly struck print of The Evil Dead 2. That’s probably the only film we had a lot of trouble with. There were some decent prints and some crappy prints. The decent prints, unfortunately, were owned by private collectors—because no studio really owns a print of it. Not only do you rent the film, but then you’ve got to go find the rights. You’ve got to be sure those people are paid.”
It’s worth the money. Triefenbach believes that film is a format that’s loved for its flaws, particularly signs of aging, like scratches, splices, and discoloration. “A lot of ’70s prints will turn pink,” he explains, “because of the film stock they used. But some of the attendees like that, because they know they can’t see that on DVD.”
Getting the word out hasn’t been easy. Triefenbach says that for publicity, the series has had to rely on a marquee instead of a billboard. “We almost take a punk-rock approach to it,” he admits. “It’s basically word of mouth and flyers, because we don’t really have a budget for advertising.” And while the potential audience is working for the weekend, Triefenbach is working toward the goal of shocking them. “I definitely want everybody to come out and have fun,” he says. “But I also want to see a strong reaction sometimes, too. I don’t want some of the films to lose their potency; nor do I want some of the films to be looked upon like fodder—like, ‘Hey, let’s get drunk and go see this midnight movie.’ We definitely have a couple attendees that do that, but usually they’re pretty cool with it. We’ve had other people that just want to get trashed, come see a movie, and make it into their own personal show. Unfortunately, some of those people have left, because we’ve had to deal with it.”
Though he hardly has the quieting strictness of, say, a librarian, “We’ve adopted a ‘Be quiet and don’t talk during the movie or we’ll throw your ass out’ sort of campaign,” Triefenbach says. “Sometimes it doesn’t work; and it’s kind of hard to do because some movies we show are kind of ridiculous.” Still, he thinks the series brings out a strange sense of reverence; an altar to go with the altered states. “Somebody came up to me,” he recalls, “and said Late Nite Grindhouse is like a film church. You come, you observe. You worship what is made.” And as if they’re his little cinematic sermons, Triefenbach continues to book the movies he wants to show…and let the zombies fall where they may.
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