Luna Vista

A food fight ensued between paid extras — the food made of little pink sponges — and if you’re one of the few Americans who don’t know what a Deathmobile or toga party or food fight is, rent the DVD.

Though Hollywood Boulevard was wall-to-wall humanity, there was more rubbernecking than celebration. About a quarter of the crowd seemed clued in to National Lampoon’s history and arrived laden with comedy records, soundtracks, posters, and back (way back) issues of the magazine for autographs. Overall, though, for a film whose name is synonymous with public disturbance, the spectators were orderly, perhaps eerily so. On the one hand, the Day of the Locust vibe was mercifully absent, but people appear so jittery and chastened these days. Those damn party-poopin’ terrorists have successfully deflated the American Way of Fun.

There’s always been a disconnect in my mind between the reality and perception of Animal House. Here’s a film that not only condones but revels in drugs, booze, screwing, anti-militarism, pro-slacking, pro-vandalism, and a profound lack of respect for what is referred to as common decency. Yet it’s earned the love of successive generations of Americans — partly because it’s truly funny, partly because “it’s only a movie” and partly because our nation deeply digs mischievous underdogs fighting authoritarian hypocrites. The Boston Tea Party prefigures 1978’s toga bash by two centuries. The Deltas are closer in action to the Earth Liberation Front than to any current fraternity. It was only a few months ago that I also stood at Hollywood and Highland, then with tens of thousands of others in a vain attempt to stop Dubya’s war. When he was young, President Frat Boy would’ve been one of the minor members of Delta House — now he’s Rush Week Chairman for the Omegas. At the birth of National Lampoon in 1970, America was at war with both a foreign enemy and itself — and so it is again. The sheer savagery of the ’Poon’s satire was a mirror image of Vietnam. Wit-sharp warriors are again needed on the frontlines, armed with barbs to disrupt the parade for real.

—Michael Simmons