“You haven’t see The Warriors!?” Maya’s tone was aghast. No, I had not. But she had the original, definitive version on cassette, Jeremy had a VHS player and I was able to borrow a screen and projector.
A week later we congregated as storms brewed outside and watched the 1979 film about gangs and dressing samesies.
As soon as the as the videotape’s legal warning jittered, I was taken back to a time when graffiti existed on subway trains and plans were made without cell phones.
Aside from it being a movie set in constant darkness, it held my attention. Maybe it was the outfits and hairdos. No one in the late seventies suffered from male pattern baldness.
Sure, sometimes it felt a bit like watching an endless 5k race, but it wrapped up in a tidy package way under the 558 minutes of the Lord of the Rings trilogy.
A vest without a shirt underneath and two thumbs up. Also? This viewing setup beats the pants off a movie theater.
Did you hear about the new pirate movie? It’s rated Arrrrrrgh.