By Robert Coover
From Hollywood B-movies to Hollywood classics, an evening on the video clips invents what may have occurred in those Saturday afternoon matinees. Mad scientists, vampires, cowboys, dance-men, Chaplin, and Bogart, all flit throughout Robert Coover's riotously humorous reveal, doing issues and uttering strains which are as stunning to them as they're humorous to the reader. As Coover's application broadcasts, you'll get Coming sights, The Weekly Serial, event, Comedy, Romance, and extra, yet became upside-down and inside-out.
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Extra info for A Night at the Movies, or, You Must Remember This
He batted through the swinging doors. Empty. He peered over the bar. No one. Not even the goddamn bartender. He slapped the doors open again and stepped out onto the one main street. It stretched off east and west toward the distant horizon, a hot unbroken line. The street was banked here by ramshackle frame buildings, mostly false storefronts, their windows all shrouded. Seemed to be telling Hank something. The futility of it all maybe. He sighed. He was alone. Alone with the Mexican. But: where was the Mexican?
The cemetery with its cypresses is enclosed by an ancient stone wall. The procession and then the camera pass through its gate and under the lugubrious trees. The walls and cypresses seem to bend toward the center of the frame as the camera passes beneath them, then vanish in a sweep at the corners. The cemetery is littered with broken tombstones, dried wreaths, little silver frames containing photographs of the dead (again, always the same face). Weeds, flowers, grass grow wildly. The procession halts at the mouth of an open grave, freshly dug, a shovel rammed into the mounds of excavated earth, and the music, abruptly, breaks off.
Main Street was empty. Painted wooden buildings aglare in the sun's relentless blast, but the windows all shut and curtained. A dry unwonted silence. Haze of hot dust skimming off toward the shimmering horizon that encircled the town like the edge of a hot coin. A child's curious nose pressed against one window across the street. Nothing else. Empty street. Stillness. Yeah. Probably here, all right. Where to first? Flem's general store looked empty. Door half-closed. Damn it, Harmon liked to see activity.