Letter From London: Stranded at the Pinewood Drive-In

The season, which began last month and is running for the next three weekends, features films specifically shot in Pinewood. The night I went, it was the turn of the first Mission: Impossible film, and they broke a world record by projecting it onto the world's biggest ever cinema screen, which was truly immense, and very helpful for informing people where the toilets were. (photo) There's a sort of glamour involved, knowing that the water tank next to the drive-in has been utilised for a host of underwater sequences, from 1960's Sink The Bismarck! through to Casino Royale and the upcoming Clash Of The Titans. On the other hand, sitting in a concrete car park just west of London on a cold November evening is about as glamorous as... well, as glamorous as sitting in a concrete car park just west of London on a cold November evening.

So, it hit me: you just do this sort of thing better than us. I wasn't in sunny California. This wasn't the 1950s. And I'm not John Travolta. The fundamental thing absent was, it seems, the most essential thing: atmosphere. There was no electricity, no anarchy. Just a few cars being herded into spaces by shivering stewards wearing luminous yellow safety jackets. Where were the James Deans with their flick knives? Where were the girls slapping the guys for touching them inappropriately? And the waiter who came from car to car hawking popcorn was an cheerful young man named Rod, which is all very nice, but not exactly what I had in mind; I suppose my vision of a mini-skirted Heather Graham zooming about on roller-skates was a little hopeful.

Atmosphere excepted, it was nice to be watching the film outside, surrounded by trees and stars, and it looked great on that humungous screen. I've always been partial to the first Mission: Impossible, which has aged well, a great, ridiculous suspense thriller, and it was cool to know that some of it had been filmed in one of the buildings on the lot. In terms of a viewing experience, it was pretty sweet. But it's a bare bones experience. I'm up for them doing this in the summer, and screening proper 50s B-movies, or grindhouse films, something silly, fun. My seven-year-old godson has ideas for horror films which would be great to see at a drive-in. I like his plan for a film about killer fish, called Get Out Of Town, although my favourite is one he came up with last night, called The Parking Space. When you park there, you die, apparently. I think he's a genius.

Tally-ho, bitches.

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