Carey Grant Summer Nights

Monday night movies in Bryant Park are one of those things that make a New York summer something out of the ordinary.

You tote blankets with you to work in the morning and then scurry to the Park when the little hand hits the five and the big hand hits the twelve. By the time you arrive, the lawn in Bryant Park is a patchwork of grass, sheets, bodies, blankets and picnic food. You find the last patch of grass big enough for your little fleece blanket and claim your territory. The sun is still high in the sky, beating down and melting the flesh off of your bones... or at the very least making you awkwardly sweaty. At last, people in your group begin to trickle in, one at a time, and the sun creeps behind a gargantuan office building casting a blessed shadow over the lawn and your little patch of blanket.

And then you wait. You chit chat about every one's day, you take turns going to get food for dinner, snacks for movies, or just finding an excuse to walk around. And you continue to wait. Every two minutes someone asks which movie is playing that night. You are continually shocked that no one seems to know who Carey Grant and Frank Capra are. You are still waiting. You begin to educate everyone within ear shot about the complexities of Carey Grant and Grace Kelly's performances in "To Catch a Thief," Carey Grant and Katherine Hepburn in "Philadelphia Story," Carey Grant and Doris Day in "Bringing Up Baby." People begin to wonder why you know so much about Carey Grant. You begin to wonder the same thing. Thankfully, the projector then begins to flicker, and the entire multitude stands up for the final stretch - they hop about, they clap, they hope some more. You are a little weirded out. Then you realize that you are the last living expert on Carey Grant movies and decide you don't have room to judge anyone for their weirdness. Everyone sits down and the film begins.

For two hours you sit entranced by the magic that is a Frank Capra film. Tonight, it's "Arsenic and Old Lace." The suspense and antics are non-stop and Mr. Grant's charm is still undeniable. Of course, because you're sitting on the ground, and have been for four hours, through out the movie, your various limbs and extremities begin to go numb one at a time. You're a bit itchy and wonder why, and then suddenly remember that you are allergic to grass. Hmm.

The movie ends happily, as Frank Capra movies are wont to do, and there is a half hearted ripple of applause as people stiffly rise and fold their blankets, packing up their picnic baskets. You're still a bit sticky and more than a little bleary eyed as you stumble towards the subway, hoping the train comes soon. However, the sight of your fellow grass-stained movie-goers and the memory of the glint in Caret Grant's eye cause you to smile and sigh contentedly.

Somehow, when you combine all of these otherwise awkward elements into one experience, it becomes quintessential and iconic, rather than just another humid, sticky July evening.