Washington Square, San Francisco… As I sit here in San Francisco in Washington Square – it isn’t the Love-Ins and the knowledge of just how much pot has been smoked here or acid dropped here that’s preoccupying my mind… It’s that to my right, about 16 floors up… that’s where Scorpio was set up looking for a “Priest or a Nigger” to kill in DIRTY HARRY. I’m kinda uncomfortable, cuz.. this is a location that I’m most intimately familiar with through the sight of a high caliber sniper rifle in the hands of a sado-masochistic super psychotic… And I’m Harry. Knowles, not Callahan, but all the same I’m looking for a glint of a gun stock and a flash of a muzzle before hitting the ground.
I’m joking, of course, I love this town. Maybe not the street system with the 40 colors of lines and left turns on Mondays between 4pm and 2 am, and the no left or right turns for 20 miles unless you’re a bus or a taxi. It just isn’t fair! Especially after a long day driving up Hwy 1… your eyes awed by the awesome vistas and cliffs at the edge of the world and the drops to oblivion. Just watching crags turn to black against the glistening ebb of light against the Pacific. The human mind isn’t meant to then figure out the lines of man and the 1000 signs that you must read in a blink of an eye, and then the horn honking. It’s a Madhouse. A Madhouuuuuse!
That being said, this is the city in North America closest to my heart after Austin. The natural beauty, the buildings, cultures… the FOOD… How good is the Chinese food here? Well, I’ve been to China, and other than that phenomenal Peking Duck, I had in Peking (I mean Beijeng) – the Chinese food here has had no compare. And then there’s the Italian food in the North Beach area is just touched by God. When you think of Copolla and GODFATHER – just walk North Beach – go into one of those old places and soak in the atmosphere, the lighting… and the scent of the scenes. It is fantastic.
But, for now, I’m in Washington Square. I’m sitting over by the speakers, they haven’t been moved to their proper location yet, and I’m chatting with a couple of the crew. There’s a constant flow of folks coming up to them asking if there’s going to be a movie in the park. When they respond with BULLITT the people get all excited. They love this movie apparently. What sorts of folks? All types, and when you say all types and you’re in San Francisco, you really do mean all types. In fact – these two silver haired ladies came up to Daniel (one of the ragged dedicated workers of the Rolling Roadshow) and asked about the film. When he told them that it would be free for San Francisco residents – she asked how much for others, he said that they would ask for a small donation, as this is everybody’s park. Well, this one little old lady reaches into her purse and pulls out a few dollars to give to Daniel. He’s majorly freaked out. “No no no no, that’s ok,” but the lady is insistent. “You people deserve it, this is a great thing you’re doing!” Daniel takes the money, genuinely flabbergasted.
I’m sort of soaking up that scene when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn to see a tall elder black man looking down at me. His face, his face had decades of character, and soft engaging eyes filled with understanding. “If you would, I would like to bestow upon you the finest spoken word poetry west of the Mississippi, for I’m Byron Fillmore, the Jackson Square Poet of New Orleans.”
A smile begins to form on my face, “By all means,” I say. “Who am I to deny the Jackson Square Poet!” He smiles – Looks out at the square and then… My God.
There are times in life when you’re stuck in the midst of a scene in a movie. I feel great gobs of my life are movie scenes. Take this whole trip I’m doing. This is a movie. One that I’m living in 22 days across 6500 miles. But within this movie in the life of Harry Knowles, there are of course favorite scenes. The moments that make traveling America a truly blessed experience. Watching my nephew on horseback in Monument Valley – or the wind hitting the side of the Teepee in the dead of night as I heard something moving just outside the flap of buffalo skin. But this, this is the scene that ruled them all.
I’d never heard of the Jackson Square Poet of New Orleans, and I doubt many of you have, but remember when you first saw Sam Jackson quote his favorite part of the bible before laying his vengeance upon those fuckers in PULP FICTION?
You know how you sat there knowing that you’d never forget this moment. I was sitting there looking up at Byron Fillmore and the beauty of San Francisco melted away, the bright late afternoon sun began to ebb a bit, and there was nothing in my world of focus other than the Jackson Square Poet.
His poem was a Ferlingetti-esque piece on the modern stagnation and retreat from intellectualism. About the black man’s embrace of all things ignorant feeding into a black on black world of crime. About the turning back of the clock set ticking by Martin Luther King and Malcolm X. The rhythm of the poem was soaring, the dynamism electric – I realized I was in a film scene that only I would recall, that only I was witnessing. Maybe it was the cornball love I have for street artists and wandering poets, but this is the exact sort of thing I love about San Francisco, New Orleans and New York.
When he was done, I shook his hand and we settled into a conversation. He’s been wandering America looking for a break, winning Poetry Slams all over the place, but still finding nobody willing to publish or produce a spoken word album from him. He asked what I did, and I told him I ran a little website about film that a few people read and enjoy. That I was traveling this country our of a desire to find a reason to have faith in the country and its people. To stop seeing states as red and blue, but as people with different problems, blessings and lives from my experiences in Austin. Byron is out using his spoken word poetry to combat “Gangsta Rap” and the proliferation of the pride wrapped up in “Ghetto Speak” and low minded ignorance that he feels is betraying everything that Martin Luther King Jr and Malcolm X died for.
I really wish Byron the best, I gave him and his charming wife some good cash to help them out. And promised I’d mention his talent here. Really good people.
After that fantastic meeting, I met some AICN geeks that had turned out for BULLITT, some had traveled in from out of town… Sacremento, Los Angeles, New Orleans. Yup, a friend of mine that’s been following the Roadshow since Monument Valley that lives in New Orleans… he came up behind me, grabbed my shoulder and I turned to look up at him and his face was ashen. He hasn’t heard word from his mother or about his home in New Orleans. He’d turn back to go home, but he’s told he can’t get back into town now due to the martial law… he’s just continuing with the Roadshow, though he may have lost everything back home. I guess its best to have great times while ya can, and he should count himself lucky that he is safe.
It’s my nephew and me right now. Father Geek is on foot wandering San Francisco searching for some sacred juju that my little Sister Satan put him out to get – and I couldn’t feel better. The crystal blue sky is turning darker and I’m looking at Saint Peter & Paul Church… this was Joe DiMaggio’s chuch… cool. The Rolling Roadshow’s screen is set up off to the right of this magnificent church. To my absolute right is Telegraph Hill with that cool as hell tower and that scary ass road. The scent of Italian spices are in the air – big dogs and little dogs with their oddly similar masters are frolicking in the park quietly. It’s a little chilly.
The road rally up here was apparently too hard and too confusing – and not a single one of the teams finished it all. So to start the evening off, the teams had to start with an interpretative dance off… this was the saddest thing I think I’ve ever seen. Eddie Murphy’s RAW had a gag about White Man Dancing. These were all people that had flunked out of that school of dance. I think the idea was that the more you rubbed your butt, the higher degree of chance you had of winning. Personally, my vote goes to the Chow Dog scooting its ass across the grass. That dog wins.
After that came the trailers. We started off with GONE IN SIXTY SECONDS, moved on to CANNONBALL RUN, then LE MANS and there was some trailer for a Steve McQueen film that was in Spanish (I think) and was just flat out bizarre.
Then it came time for BULLITT.
I love this movie and I absolutely loved this screening. The audience was so great. Maybe, coming off of having a loathsome loud mouth dog yapping prick sitting behind me in Los Angeles made this screening sweeter… But I had my little blanket all snuggly wrapped around me and my nephew and while this film moved too slow for his attention – the rest of the audience loved it. When Steve would exit or enter certain establishments, there’d be wild cheers and applause. However, this audience wasn’t just into the locales, they truly were INTO the movie. Anytime that McQueen would do something ‘so Steve’ they’d cheer. There was no making fun of the hairstyles or clothes. No coy laughter. This screening was filled with respect. And I loved it.
And the print… OHMYGOD! This print was freaking gorgeous. The colors so vibrant that they just seemed to peel off the screen and taste like candy. This is one of the finest prints of a vibrant film I’ve ever seen. A stunning print.
One of the great techniques that this film uses is the ol ropadope. The police procedural is so methodical, that it tricks you into thinking that this is going to be a slow investigative film. Until Bullitt does his seat belt… you’ve no clue that this film has a third and fourth gear… not to mention just how intense the chase scene is… But this audience went absolutely nuts during the scene. Screaming with phobic empathy of the San Francisco hills at high speeds. Everytime a car came slamming down, the audience would groan. It was classic. Even funnier was the 40 or so people that left the second the chase was over.
They were so into it. It was so nice to see old grey haired Hemingway looking men, hot California girls, big yawning dogs… that church and this film just going nuts. It was… fantastic.
After the screening my nephew was a ball in the grass, zoned out sleeping. From behind me I hear, “This is for anyone in earshot… … Anybody got any pot… I mean, Marijuana, sometimes ya gotta spell it out!” Dad and I look at each other, begin to laugh… San Francisco. Ya gotta love it.
Now, as I finish this, I’m sitting in the GOONIES football stadium in Astoria, Oregon – the sun is setting – my nephew is so ready for his first Goonie Adventure, here he was when we left San Fran.. Right now, he’s doing laps on the football field at mach 5. I love this trip!
