A View to the Fab Four

Sooner or later, I was bound to see my first Beatles movie.

As it happened, when it finally happened, it was in a grassy lot and on the 50th anniversary of its premiere in New York. What are the chances?

Movie Club Richmond was screening "Help" tonight and after missing the Bijou's screening of "A Hard Day's Night" last year, there was no way I was missing another chance to finally see a Beatles movie.

I can only be this culturally illiterate for so long.

Once my hired mouth had taken care of business, I joined the group forming in the lot across from Lamplighter, chair and Milk Duds in hand. When I admitted to several friends that I'd yet to see "Help," they made jokes. "Well, there's a lot of movies out there."

True, although half a century is generally long enough to catch one you want to see.

Waiting for the movie to start, it was hard to miss the scent of dog poop occasionally wafting my way. Before long, the blanket of people sitting to my right started checking around, also looking for the smell's source. It wasn't constant, but when it wafted by, it had a certain nose hair-singing quality.

Ah, but such is the price we pay for a movie under the stars...and on a perfectly gorgeous evening, too.

Tonight's bill began with a trailer of the cult classic "Big Trouble in Little China" because it's the next film Movie Club will be showing. I'll be out of town or I'd be front and center for what looks like a pretty funny '80s John Carpenter film. And can you ever really have too much Kurt Russell?

When "Help" started, I realized from the opening scene that I had almost no idea what this film was about. And since I hadn't seen "A Hard Day's Night," I didn't even know what a typical Beatles film was like.

Let's see, it took no time at all to recognize its zaniness (the entire "Monkees" TV show must have been directly inspired by it), its droll British humor ("He's an idiot. Degree in woodwork! I ask you!) and tons of slapstick and physical humor (trying to walk up a ladder with rungs cut so every rung breaks when stepped on).

What surprised me was how much the crowd laughed at what by today's standards is corny humor, obvious stuff and physical comedy. Have millennials traded their trademark irony and aloof detachment for the pleasure of 1965 humor? Be still my heart.

Technical difficulties showed up not far into the film and our A/V squad decided to switch projectors. I used the time to pull out my Milk Duds and offer everyone within arm's length a handful while several groups around me produced popcorn from their bags.

No, we didn't have pour your own butter like at the Criterion, but other than that, it was a regular movie night behind the chain link fence.

Rolling again, we jumped back into 1965, when there was zero political correctness ("They approach an Oriental") and plenty of very British-sounding phrases ("There's a certain amount of hurry up involved").

The only problem was that projector #2 was dim. Dim like Jethro Bodine, to use a '60s reference. So we paused for another projector switch.

I was surprised by all the James Bond references (and music) used in the movie, an obvious nod to what was popular at the time. And talk about your product placement: the bad guys used the Goodyear blimp to chase the Beatles.

It was definitely cool to see the band playing songs in between scenes from the convoluted plot. Paul "playing" a girl in place of his usual bass seemed pretty risque for 1965. But my favorite part was just hearing the guys speak and rib each other.

George, supposedly the "quiet Beatle" was unexpectedly amusing with his off the cuff comments ("I'm always getting winked at these days. Used to be you, didn't it, Paul?") and background scene-stealing antics (shoplifting at the jewelry store while Ringo is trying to have the sacrificial ring removed from his finger).

If I'd been a Beatles fan in 1965, I think I would have been in the George fan club. He was dreamy.

When the movie ended, there was trivia with prizes for the best and brightest. Despite having lived my life without seeing "Help" until tonight, when the question, "Why was this filmed in the Alps and the Bahamas?" was asked, I knew the answer.

Those were the places the Beatles wanted to go on vacation.

Bingo. My prize was a book but not just any book: bassist John Taylor's "In the Pleasure Groove: Love, Death and Duran Duran," incidentally a New York Times bestseller. No, really.

Was I a Duran Duran fan back in the '80s? Not really. Will I wind up one after reading the book?

If I can finally see my first Beatles movie at my age, anything's possible.