Digging the Droplets

If a rainy night is made for curling up with a good book, shouldn't it also be ideal for going to a movie about people who wrote books?

At least, that's how I justified my interest in going to the Criterion to see "Kill Your Darlings," a biopic about poet Allen Ginsberg and the friends he met at Columbia University who became the nucleus of the Beat Generation.

There weren't more than a half dozen people in the theater and I couldn't decide if that was a factor of the weather, the impending holidays or just a lack of interest in the Beats.

While some people might have found it jarring to see the actor who played Harry Potter playing Allen Ginsberg, I've never seen any of the HP films, so it wasn't a big deal to me.

The film covered a very specific time in Ginsberg's life and one with which I was familiar from having read Ellis Amburn's book, "Subterranean Kerouac."

One thing the film did well was evoke 1940s New York City with jazz clubs, students in vests and shirtsleeves and everyone listening to the radio.

Given the time period, it wasn't surprising that the soundtrack boasted all kinds of classics - "On the Sunny Side of the Street, "G.I. Swing," "Maxwell's Boogie" - but that it also used recent music.

And by recent, I mean bands I've seen in the past five years.

We're talking TV on the Radio's "Wolf Like Me" during the scene where they break into Columbia's library and put banned books in display cases.

And Bloc Party's "The Pioneers" during the murder scene.

Despite liking the songs, I found it a bit jarring and even a tad on the pandering side, especially amongst so much '40s period music, but perhaps that's just me.

I did like hearing some of Ginsberg's poetry as he began to trust his muse and write.

Another lover hits the universe.
The circle is broken
But with death comes rebirth
And like all lovers and sad people
I am a poet

The movie was barely over an hour and a half and as it was winding down, the man in the row with me pulled out his phone and soon left the theater.

Considering one of the characters was trying to hang himself, I figured it must have been an important call.

He came back at the very end where the aftermath of all the characters was explained over grainy, old black and white photographs of the real Beats.

Leaning in to me, he eagerly asked, "What happened to the guy who was hanging? Did he die?" The least I could do was clear that up for him.

"I really liked the movie!" he confided as if I'd been waiting for his opinion. I snapped my fingers in applause and told him I had, too.

What's not to like? An intimate portrayal of Ginsberg, Kerouac, Burroughs and Carr as they came together in college to carve out a "new vision" (as Carr dubbed their movement) was just the ticket on a rainy night.

It also deposited me back out into the world in time to make it to Balliceaux for the Marcus Tenney quintet and a chance to say happy birthday to a favorite musician and all-around great guy.

The surprise was that the back room was mobbed with people who looked nothing like the usual jazz crowd and the birthday boy was nowhere to be found.

Waiting to go in the back, I saw a friend who works at the National who gave me the lowdown on last night's mega-sold out Queens of the Stone Age" show (crowd singalongs! Josh Homme signs autographs! smallest venue of entire tour!), of no real interest to me except as a time-filler.

A trombonist, curious to know who all the people in the backwere, came over presuming I knew the story just as a scenester walked by, overheard the question and solved the mystery.

Turns out it was the Ellwood Thompson employee Christmas party, which explained a lot.

Even for Richmond, the percentage of beards was strikingly high. On the food tables were such unusual cocktail foods as quinoa and nachos made with naan.

Healthy food choices aside, they all seemed to be okay with poisoning their young bodies with alcohol.

But clearly a lot of them weren't ready for their party to end even when the band took the stage, so they lingered, drinks in hand, chatting loudly.

Another trombonist arrived, took in the scene and turned to me asking what was up and referencing "Mo' Better Blues," a movie I haven't seen, to explain the roomful of people.

The smart ones stayed to hear the music and the rest dipped out or moved to the front room to chatter.

The birthday boy soon arrived and not long after, a favorite couple came to fete him, too.

Behind the bar was the dream team of mixology, Sean and Bobby, a pairing Sean said hadn't happened in close to four years.

Of course, they're wasted on me, a single spirit drinker with no need for mixing savvy, but I guess Ellwood Thompson was worthy of the best.

They certainly got that with the Marcus Tenney quintet, a seriously talented group of musicians and tonight led by Marcus, dressed up in a jacket and tie.

"Gotta look good for the people," he'd explained when teased about looking so much nicer than when he plays with the RVA big band.

As good as he looked, he couldn't top the way the band sounded and it wasn't long before jazz lovers started replacing the ET crowd, bobbing heads, applauding solos and seriously enjoying the grooves.

During the break, a friend asked what else I'd done tonight, certain that Balliceaux wasn't my first stop, and when I mentioned the movie, he told me about his own particular way of seeing a film.

He'd adjust his attitude, show up at the Byrd, buy a ticket without looking to see what was playing and watch with no expectations, often leaving with no real understanding of the plot if it was a sequel.

And completely enjoying the spontaneity and surprise of the experience.

Let's see, altered reality, abandonment of standard behavior, rejection of materialism (come on, a $2 ticket?). Sounds like a very Beat way to experience a film.

Do it on a rainy night, follow with some superbly-executed jazz and it's practically a Beat's wet dream.

Cue finger snapping.