the Cineaste Comes of Age (1987-1994)

My family had just moved into our new home in Dundalk, an eastern suburb of Baltimore City. It was late at night, and I was keeping my usual night owl hours. It was probably 1987. It could have been 1988.

I had a room in the basement, where our latest monster projection television had been placed. I came out of my room after some quality time with Mad Magazine and Pro Wrestling Illustrated to discover my younger brother sitting in front of the television, transfixed. He had the weird clunky controller on the floor in front of him, its thick cord snaking back to the cable box. He was watching channel three, a pay channel. It was a freeview weekend, and Cinemax's Friday After Dark had been discovered. Things were never the same.

Through some quirk of fate, that "freeview weekend" never ended and the wide world of pay movie channels remained open to me from mddle school into high school.

I spent many a summer and weekend night foraging through the offerings. I knew I had something good playing out in front of me when it would keep my attention into the wee hours. A Clockwork Orange blew me entirely away. Near Dark had me up until 5AM, leaving me as raw as those freewheeling southern vampires. Raising Arizona, Blue Velvet, Roger and Me, Do the Right Thing, Edward Scissorhands, Jacob's Ladder... they all rolled by, uncut films streaming into the world of a young man who was far from the arthouse. This was thanks in part to the Cinemax Vanguard programming, which was what the channel ran late at night when it wasn't busy being skinemax.

But that wasn't the only way movies were entering into my world. My family's healthy film habit was supported by Sunday post-church trips to the suburban multiplexes and our membership at the Video Attractions down the road. We were often at the rental limit, and my brother and I continually attempted to sneak films like Basic Instinct out of the store and into the basement with limited success.

You will notice once again that the physical act of going to the movie theater was not a big deal, nor was it the only way I saw a film. Still, amidst the mega-doses of Spielburgs and Robocops and Batmen, I began digging deeper, paying attention to directors, looking for envelope-pushing materials. I was unafraid of black and white, interested in foreign cinema.

As high school dawned, my social world opened up, and so did my filmic horizons. One friend to whom I am particualry endebted to for may reasons enjoyed envelope-pushing music and cinema with equal fervor. He made sure I was treated to a steady diet of Tarantino, Lynch, Bakshi, and Kubrick when we weren't playing/attending shows.

After I graduated from high school and entered college, something happened that sealed my fate. It is perhaps best summed up in cliche. For soon, there is a darkening of the screen and a pause in the vhs tape as we reach the Lost Years of the Cineaste (1995-1997). Before that, Films Viewed (December 2009).