Cemetery Cinema

On Saturday night, a few of us went to Cinespia’s weekly Cemetery screening at Hollywood Forever cemetery. You know..that cemetery behind Paramount studios where James Dean and C.B. DeMille and lots of famous folk are buried. The film is screened on the side of a huge marble columbarium wall in front of a huge unoccupied grass lawn that seats about 2000.Everyone brings wine and pot and picnic stuff and spreads out on blankets and lawn chairs and when the sun goes down the movie plays. Saturday night, it was “Fast Times At Ridgemont High” and Drew Barrymore was hanging out and having a good time. She told us she comes every Saturday night and it’s true that it is becoming THE event for hip hollywood types. The Director of the movie showed up told us something morbid and interesting. Lana Clarkson, the actress Phil Spector (allegedly) killed is buried in the columbarium whose wall we are using for a screen. Lana Clarkson had a small role in the film.   So, for the first time in my life I was watching an actress onscreen while her decomposed body was just behind the screen. Sick.

Speaking of sick, Kevan brought a bucket of KFC and I ate some of it. My digestive system went into shock. All that grease! All that bad chicken karma! I’ll have to do cardio penance for a week!

I parked on Bronson street, and it was so “only in hollywood”ish to walk by a fenced lot filled with prop mailboxes, beach huts, signs that say “no lifeguard on duty”, “no swimming! Amity P.D.”, picket fences, fake rock wishing wells, etc. Very surreal

One response to “Cemetery Cinema

  1. “So, for the first time in my life I was watching an actress onscreen while her decomposed body was just behind the screen. Sick.”

    That is BRILLIANT! Not as brilliant as Andrea “Whips” Feldman calling up all her ex-boyfriends, telling them to meet her in the street in front of the building where she lived, and then plummeting to her death at their feet from the top of the building, but brilliant nonetheless. Wow. Imagine the symbolic weight of projecting this simulacra of the living actress onto the wall behind which her dead body lays, mouldering away. That’s what I call art.

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