Hollywood Forever was one of California’s most exclusive cemeteries, a coveted resting place for the stars. Rudolph Valentino had a crypt there. Cecil B. De Mille. Tyrone Power. Even Dee Dee Ramone was interred in its lush green lawns, a strangely conventional resting place for a punk rocker. The waiting list was long and difficult to get on. It was a far cry from the tiny little cemetery in Topanga Canyon where my parents were buried, and where I would one day probably join them. Lying next to Dee Dee Ramone for eternity seemed like a more exciting option. You could be sure there would be a regular influx of teenagers to tip bottles of bourbon into the soil.
A few years ago they started showing movies at the cemetery during the summer, mostly Hollywood classics like Singing In the Rain and cult films like Rosemary’s Baby. When Hank and I arrived people were already teeming through the gates with picnic baskets under their arms, beanbags trailing along behind. Sunset Boulevard was a popular movie, a perverse film noir that would appeal to anyone excited by the idea of watching a movie in a graveyard. Everyone was walking fast, clambering to get the best position on the lawn. I grabbed Hank by the shoulder and pulled him along.
‘Hurry up Hank, we’ve got to get up front.’
We walked past the headstones that lined the driveway. Unlike most cemeteries, where the graves were crowded and almost on top of each other, here they were spaced far apart, with plenty of room to wander in between without worrying you were stepping on someone. A few of the mausoleums were the size of houses and one had a sign that said the chapel was now equipped for webcasts. A man accidentally bumped into Hank and he jumped.
‘Sorry dude,’ the guy said, putting his hand on Hank’s shoulder before walking off.
‘Hank? Everything okay?’ I asked.
He swallowed hard and nodded. As the people milled around I saw Hank shrink, pulling in his shoulders as if he were hoping his head would disappear. I took his hand like he was a lost kid and to my surprise he gripped it firmly, and I pulled him along the lawn until we arrived at the space set up for the screening. It was a large stretch of grass named the Fairbanks Lawn, due to its location next to the crypt of movie star Douglas Fairbanks Senior. People had already laid out their blankets and were unpacking picnic baskets, pouring champagnes and opening beers.
‘Here looks good,’ I said, and threw Hank’s pillows on the ground. We sat down and watched as others arrived, placing beanbags and directors chairs next to us, squashing us in. Hank was beginning to realise that no one was paying attention to him, and relaxed. I handed him one of the beers I’d taken from the fridge and he almost smiled.
‘Thank God,’ he said, twisting the top off. A woman walked past nursing a baby and smiled at us.
‘Who the hell would bring a baby to something like this?’ he said.
‘Settle down Hank. What’s the big deal?’
‘You shouldn’t bring a baby to a cemetery.’
‘Why? The kid doesn’t seem too bothered by it. It’s not like it’s old enough to understand what’s going on.’
Hank leant back on the cushion. ‘I hate kids,’ he grumbled.
‘But how great is this,’ I said, looking around at the crowds as they settled in. ‘If any film was made to be watched at Hollywood Forever Cemetery it’s Sunset Boulevard. It’s like the ultimate Hollywood horror film.’
‘Gloria Swanson sure was something in her day,’ he said. ‘Stunning.’
‘Were you ever in love, Hank?’
‘Yeah. We nearly married, but she couldn’t live with my goddamn demons.’ He looked at the grass thoughtfully. ‘Sometimes I can’t.’
‘There’s still so much I don’t know about you,’ I said.
‘You know enough.’
‘I know that I have successfully managed to extract you from your house. I’m feeling pretty pleased with myself.’
‘Don’t get too cocky. The only reason I don’t leave my place is that there ain’t no good reason to.’
‘Are you kidding me? Hank, we live in Los Angeles. This is the best city in the world. There’s always something going on, and it’s like something amazing happened on every single street corner. Everything has a story behind it.’
‘I’ve heard a lot of stories in my time,’ Hank said. ‘And not all good ones.’
‘Like what?’
Before he could answer, a projector started and the wall of the Cathedral Mausoleum became a screen. Everyone clapped and cheered and even Hank let out a laugh. ‘We’re ready for our close-up Mr De Mille,’ someone yelled, and the crowd laughed and clapped again.
‘Benji would’ve loved this,’ I said quietly, not sure if I was speaking to Hank or myself. This was exactly the sort of thing Benji and I would’ve done together. I had to admit to myself that Benji and I were growing apart. Whenever I thought of him, all I could see was Sid the white goldfish, swimming listlessly in his bowl, jammed up the back of the cupboard and waiting for death. I wondered what could possibly come next.
The score burst to life, and the night was filled with the sound of a wailing police siren. I crossed my legs and watched as the images flashed across the wall: a police car speeding down 1940s Sunset Boulevard, a gothic mansion hidden behind enormous gates, a man floating dead in a pool. The images played on my eyes and warmed me. There was nothing better than the movies.
Sitting in a cemetery in the dark should have been scary, but it wasn’t. Surrounded by couples and families, bathed in the glow of light from the screen, it was almost comforting. Watching movies in a cemetery is a liberating experience. You almost feel like you are keeping the dead company. I imagined the ghosts of Douglas Fairbanks Senior and Peter Lorre were pleased that we were there. It seemed a fitting tribute. In a way, all these people sitting on the lawn were just like me. They all found comfort amongst the dead.
I’d seen the movie a few times already. An ageing movie star refuses to believe her time as a famous actress has passed, and asks a struggling screenwriter to write her comeback project, a proposal that ends in betrayal and murder. Her house is a decaying mansion that looks like Dracula’s castle. The movie star herself is as terrifying as her surroundings, old and sinewy like a black widow spider. In the end she loses her mind. Unable to come to terms with her lost career, she descends into madness, becomes convinced that life is actually a movie. At the end of the film the actress slinks towards the camera and the audience, beckoning us to join her. All those wonderful people in the dark, she says.
Yes. All us wonderful people in the dark. When the film ended and the screen was turned off, the lawn was plunged into darkness. I looked over at Hank and even in the shadows I could see he was crying.
We hailed a cab back to his apartment. It was still strange to see him out in the night air, standing in his front yard, the wind blowing through his greyish blond hair. It was a beautiful sight. I handed him back his bed pillows.
‘You sure you don’t want me to help you with those?’ I asked.
‘I’m fine, I just gotta get in,’ he said, racing for the front door of his apartment.
I yelled out the window of the cab. ‘Hank!’
He turned around. ‘Yeah, what?’
‘How ’bout next time you tell me where you wanna go?’
‘Next time. Yeah, sure,’ he yelled back, and before I could say anything else he was gone, flying up the stairs as fast as someone his age can.