HOW TO HOST A SCREENING PARTY:

Aside from having my back caressed very lightly, there’s nothing in this world I enjoy more than inviting my nearest and dearest pals (and the indifferent new crush of the week) over to my place to watch a favorite flick, pageant, award show, or hell with it, all of the above in one, endless, heavily-caffeinated Norman Fell swoop. With Screening Party, my part fact/part non-fact book about six friends and the movies that bring them together, I’ve attempted to turn this sedentary predilection into something more than the frivolous, shallow waste of time that it actually it is; something manifesto-like, that unites the closet TV Talkers out there like me who can’t watch Sarah Jessica Parker on Sex and the City without wondering aloud, “What outfits does she say no to?”

Through the course of the writing the book, I learned some valuable lessons about the art of screening party throwing and I’d like to share a few a tips here. Believe me, there’s more to it than sending out a mass e-mail, renting a few flicks and popping some popcorn. (Okay, there’s not really, but I’ve got a book to promote and I need to seem like I know stuff that you don’t if I’m ever going to get my ass on The View). [back to top]

WHEN TO HAVE YOUR SCREENING PARTY:

If the event you’re watching doesn’t dictate your date and time—like say, the Oscars or the Miss Hawaiian Tropic Pageant, I recommend you have your party on Sunday afternoon. By that point in the weekend, most fun-loving folks, who aren’t still partying down at some tea dance or other, are in the mood to sit on their asses and dish. Plus, if you time it right, you can finish your movie-viewing just in time for Queer as Folk, which we can all agree goes down easier in a room full of cranky friends. And while we’re on the subject, does anyone else wish one of the diner patrons would turn to Sharon Gless and say, “Could you stop making jokes about ass-fucking for two seconds? I’m trying to enjoy my soup.” Of course, maybe I’m just bitter because straight actor Hal Sparks has gotten to fool around with more hot guys in the last two seasons than I have in the last two decades. I think the shaggy violin player is dreamy, however. [back to top]

WHO TO INVITE:

Apart from you closest pals, and the aforementioned indifferent crush of the week, I suggest you get yourself an affable low-maintenance film geek to serve up a few fun facts. A loose-lipped show biz mole is also a good idea, like say a jaded make-up artist who claims to have dodged hairbrushes thrown by some of the biggest names in Hollywood. Anyone who has ever crossed paths with Faye Dunaway would probably work here as well.

I also suggest you invite Rosie O’Donnell and here’s why: because not only is she openly lesbianic these days but she’s being brutally honest about everything else, including what she thinks of other celebs (“Joan Rivers looks like an alien.”) Here is a woman who has five years of nice to get out of her system. Order a pizza, pop in A League of Their Own, and enjoy the show. Oh yeah, and take notes for me.
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WHO NOT TO INVITE:

Years ago, I had a guest flee from my screening party of Shawn Cassidy: In Concert. I know, it was heaven on a stick. At one point—I believe it was when Shawn peeled off his gold parachute pants to reveal a silver pair underneath—this so-called friend stood up, barked, “I’m sorry, I just can’t be around all this negativity,” and stormed out. Even though to my mind, we weren’t being particularly ‘negative’ so much as celebratory, jolly and incredulous, I still felt a twinge of guilt. But I knew in my heart we were better off without him.

In other words, those people in your life who truly believe that they can’t call Julia Roberts on her “I love my life” bullshit without paying some serious karmic retribution, should probably not be on the guest list. You also don’t want to invite anyone who insists on actually watching the movie. Is the book called Shushing Party? I don’t think so. [back to top]


WHAT TO SERVE:

Alas, I’m rather useless in this department. If it were up to me, my guests would have to survive on the kind of no-frills snackage one can pick up in one two-minute 7-11 raid. Luckily, I have a friend, Marcus, who is quite the kitchen whiz. He even prepares special treats that tie into the movies. For Armageddon, for example, we had pop rock asteroid cookies. Delicious and interactive. For Cruising, he showed up with a dish of his own invention; cream-filled buttcakes (“You bake them like normal cupcakes,” he explained to us, “then a minute before they’re ready, you split the tops and shoot the holes full of vanilla frosting.”) In other words, folks, if you can’t cook for shit, get yourself a Marcus. [back to top]

WHAT TO WATCH:

Apart from always-good-for-a-giggle campy fare like Showgirls, Valley of the Dolls and Saving Private Ryan, I found that the most interesting parties result when you screen movies that, for better or worse, were part of the zeitgeist of their time and, therefor, have strong associations for people. Think back to 1983, for example. Meryl Streep made Silkwood, and while we can all agree that it was a good movie, did it inspire you to take a pair scissors and ruin your entire wardrobe. No, but Flashdance did. Therefor, it is the better screening party choice. Might I also suggest showing films that pissed people off when they were originally released. For example, gay groups raised holy hell over the fact that Sharon Stone’s ice pick murderess in Basic Instinct liked to dive the occasional muff, yet no one uttered a peep over the harrowing sight of Michael Douglas’s naked concave ass. Whatever, people.

And speaking of sexual deviants, it’s also fun to revisit the movies that inspired those first secret pangs same-sex longing. In my case, these would include Paradise and Scavenger Hunt both with Willie Aames, and For Ladies Only, a made-for-TV male stripper melodrama in which Gregory Harrison doffed his body-hugging Zorro costume to reveal a well-packed black Speedo with a white Z on it. 90% of my Gen-X gay brethren, it seems, can remember vividly the night it aired and how mysteriously sexed-up it made them. If you’re one of the few that missed out, I suggest you drop everything and go out and rent it. Oh wait, I still have it checked it. You can have it when I’m done. [back to top]

A FINAL THOUGHT

In my experience, the best screening parties occur when the participants are brutally honest and forthcoming in their observations and reminiscences. Anyone can make fun of Whitney Houston’s wigs in The Bodyguard— which I grant you, are just asking for it—but it takes a pretty big person to admit that they bawled their eyes out when Mandy Moore died in A Walk to Remember. Or that they discovered the pleasures of masturbation right along with Christopher Atkins in The Blue Lagoon. In that spirit, let me close with my own embarrassing movie-related memory that I’ve told no other living human since 1985: the first time I saw Back to the Future, I didn’t understand the ending. I didn’t get that by going back to the past, Michael J. Fox’s character, Marty McFly changed the present and that’s why everything at the end was different than it was at the beginning. The whole concept bewildered me. I had to have it explained to me later, at length, by my incredulous college pal, Greg, who found my idiocy both shocking and hilarious. Whew, it feels good to finally get that off my chest. Now it’s your turn. [back to top]