I actually stuck with my new rule this weekend and checked off one of my long-procrastinated locations. The old Twin Drive-In Theater in Fort Worth has been glaring at me for years now, and considering the likelihood that one more good spring storm could carry it off like the sides of the Bank One Tower 6 years ago, I figured this was a good place to start.
Of course, I got a little distracted on the way. But who among us can ignore the bright-yellow swoop of an abandoned Googie sign? Who, I ask!
This one marked the former location of the Boardwalk, an establishment apparently specializing in the "cocktail," though I doubt either of those syllables were ever used in this neighborhood to refer to alcohol. And yet, although the only thing left of this bar is its foundation, that hasn't stopped anyone from drinking on this corner.
I suppose that's why I've avoided shooting the Twin for so long — the condition of the neighborhood. I mean, it didn't take 3 minutes of standing on the roadside before my assistant was propositioned by a man in a windowless minivan. Really, whose pimp carries a 20D? And what sort of girl hooks next to a Corolla?
What I'm saying is this isn't the safest place to be. But as long as we got out of there before the sun was set, I figured we'd take our chances. Someone has to preserve this piece of pop history.
I should've tried shooting the place a few years ago, because the flora has grown so high at this point that it has almost obscured the west screen's signage. What appears to have been the theater's marquee has been swallowed whole. I had to wade through nature to get a decent shot of either.
Surprisingly, the east screen has been kept entirely clear. A dirt road cuts directly in front of it, for reasons unknown. But except for that one clear trail, the property is good for nothing but acquiring an armload of thorn scratches and perhaps a case of poison ivy — unless you collect heroin spoons or you're looking for a really good pair of discarded pants.
