Without hesitation, I sweep my sweaty bangs out of the way, and tenderly, his lips tattoo themselves to the spot.
At once, it’s like the sunrise is inside of me.
Transcript
Transcript Excerpt of Episode 407 Don’t You Forget About…Chompin’ At The Bit(1978) director Alice Kelly. Guest: Wren Roland, Wiley’s Drive-In
WR:As you know, Alice’s film was originally supposed to have a local premiere at Wiley’s Drive-In in summer of 1978. Unfortunately, after the disastrous New York and LA premieres, she disowned the film and went into hiding. The owner of Wiley’s at the time, Chet Wiley—Earl Wiley’s father—knew the Kelly family and didn’t want to dishonor Alice’s wishes by going forward with the event after the production company pulled the film from distribution.
OV:You’re remounting a missed opportunity?
WR:Exactly. It had exploitation film sensibilities, so it would’ve appealed to that late-seventies drive-in crowd who wanted to see zombies, the undead, all that, but it had an emotional core that would’ve resonated with more character-driven indie fans. Probably hard to market without being misleading. Additionally, I think Ms. Kelly is more comfortable and confident in her work. She’s also open to the queer reading of the film that an audience then might not have been ready to accept, even if bisexuality was starting to be talked about in publications likeTIMEmagazine.
OV:Do you think a remake could be in the future? Another film for Ms. Kelly?
WR:Well, Ms. Kelly is suffering from aggressive macular degeneration. I don’t think she’d be in good enough health to step behind the camera again, but stranger things have happened. I do think she might open herself up to more interviews. Let us into the world of an independent female filmmaker, discuss the challenges she faced in the business more openly. I mean, she was one of about sixteen women working as major directors at the time, all white, all well-to-do, all pretty highly regarded, yet they faced backlash and sometimes disgusting harassment from the suits in power.
OV:Yes, I mean, we’re still in a world where parity is far from the norm. Look at major studio email leaks that show gross wage inequality. Look at assault-survivor social movements that are holding men accountable for their repulsive actions, even as most are still getting away with it. Hollywood has not reckoned with the ways in which it fails the women it claims to uphold.
WR:Knowing Alice, I know she would never want to be painted as a victim of circumstance, but you’re not wrong that the hierarchy chewed her up and spit her out. There are a lot of theories about why and how this happened that I can’t wait to dive into later in this pod.
OV:I agree, and we’ll get to those within the hour. Maybe we’ll have to do a two-parter. Since I posted about this episode, there has been an outpouring from young female directors tweeting their support of Alice Kelly and shaming the misogynistic industry for brushing her seemingly bright career under the rug. Has Alice seen this?
WR:No, no. She’s not on social media. Honestly, she barely watches TV besides the news andThe Mary Tyler Moore Show. I will be sure to let her know though. That’s wonderful.
OV:So, let’s start by talking about Willow Valley, Alice’s birthplace and current home. Can you tell us a little about Alice’s time there and how it inspired the movie?
WR:Sure. Before I begin, I know Alice is keen on selling her Willow Valley property, so as you’re listening, if anyone out there wants a historically significant farmhouse, I know a woman I can connect you with!
OV:Don’t You Forget About…part podcast, part Zillow ad, all fun! I love it. Let’s get down to it…
Chapter 21
Derick’s house is a McMansion screen-grabbed from a dream homes TV show. The kind of house that began as a modest two-story but after years of accumulated wealth and extensions has become a jig-sawed structure with six bedrooms, four and a half baths, and an in-ground pool with a built-in Bluetooth speaker system. From the outside, it’s a behemoth, and from the inside, it feels like it’s digesting me.
When Derick texted to say I’d been invited to dinner by his parents, I had to read the message three times through to be sure I understood. Only days ago, he’d deceived them into spending money on what essentially ended up being a couples’ trip for us. Now, I’m sitting in the formal dining room, white carpet beneath my feet like they expect no one to ever spill or drip.
A painted portrait of the Haverford family hangs on the wall opposite me. Derick looks young, uncertain, and out of sorts in a scratchy-looking sweater-and-collared-shirt combo. They’re a beautiful family, to say the least.
Derick rode on the coattails of his two older brothers through the halls of Willow Valley High—a robotics club wizard turned not-yet-launched app designer, and the debate team’s secret weapon turned lawyer. The Haverford legacy loomed large, like the painting in front of me does, and Derick always struck me as the outlier—the goofy, artsy one. Despite that, his last name left him at the top of the food chain. His laurels were so stupendous that he charmingly didn’t even know he was resting on them.
I’d been here a handful of times for pool parties in elementary school before the cliques became constants and everyone stopped being invited to everything. Derick and his brothers weren’t the type to throw mythic parties when they came of age though. Their parents were helicopters with top-of-the-line security cameras and no tolerance for the repercussions an underaged rager might bring upon them.
I popped by on rare occasions when Derick needed to pick up something before one of our co-dates, but for the most part he avoided bringing me here. For a while, I thought maybe he was embarrassed of me. Now, that seems less likely.
Mrs. Haverford enlisted Derick’s help in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on the roast she’s made. The scent wafts in as Mr. Haverford saunters by with David, the lawyer and the second oldest of the Haverford brood, and his wife, Preeti, a gynecologist from Philadelphia. She has rich brown skin with a long, tight braid running down her back.
“Mr. Roland, delighted you could join us.” Mr. Haverford extends a well-kept hand toward me. He wears a gaudy gold watch with an encrusted face that appears to weigh down his wrist.
“Thank you for the invitation.”
“I trust you and my son enjoyed your stay in the city,” he says with slithery subtext, settling himself into the high-backed chair at the head of the cherrywood table.
“Yes, sir.” I should probably feel guilty about the situation, but I don’t. Derick remained steadfast in his defiance, telling me it had blown over. If they’ve moved past it, then I’m not about to reverse matters by saying anything out of turn. “It was lovely.”
My voice is much stronger than I expect it to be. I prickle, nevertheless, wondering what’s taking Derick so long. Idle chatter has always made me uncomfortable. The weather is standard for this time of year, hot but not too humid, and I don’t have any opinions on the latest Tesla model, so my mind is blank.
“Glad to hear it was partially for business and not just for pleasure.” The way he sayspleasuresits poorly with me. David shoots his dad a deadly we’ve-been-over-this look. “If only my son had that kind of drive.” Mr. Haverford unfolds his linen napkin.
