Some like it monochrome under the stars

OPINION: We settle into the couch. "I think the rain might hold off," says my companion, glancing to the clouds above Fairfield Park. It has been drizzling most of the day, finally easing off in late-afternoon.

At 7.30pm I texted "Is it on?" to the cancellation number for the outdoor movie screening, and the answer came back, "Yes, but bring a boat."

So here we are. It didn't really say "bring a boat", but we hitched the Buccaneer to the mobile home just in case.

I set the folding table with an elegant repast of dips, pesto, cashews and the last of the Christmas chocolate. I'm embracing chocolate as part of my New Year resolutions, this being the Chinese Year of the Podge. (That battle is lost.)

My resolutions never make it to Easter, though. In a new mood of realism this year, I've decided that if you are a weak-willed dreamer, you may as well dream large. So in 2010 I will endeavour to bring about world peace, reverse global warming and find a TV channel without cooking shows.

We pay our $2 and kick back to watch a comedy classic, Some Like It Hot. Actually, we do like it hot, but fat chance this summer. I fire up the gas heater and pour two pinot grises. "Now these are what I call 3D glasses," I say, passing the wine. We clink in a toast to rising property values.

In the movie at this point, Marilyn Monroe and Jack Lemmon, the latter disguised as Daphne to escape mobsters, are mixing their cocktails in a hottie during a hilarious party in a train sleeping compartment. The movie may be half a century old, but it's still a hoot, with zinger lines and great pace. "Ciabatta?" I shout over the noise of the generator, taking the bread from the microwave.

Monroe is an unlikely sex symbol to our eyes. She looks like an over-inflated pool toy – though a dress made of clingfilm and sparkles does tend to capture the attention. Particularly of women. (Director Billy Wilder teases his audience by framing her in a circle of light that keeps her bosom in shade.)

Maybe I'm getting old. As Marilyn performs a musical number clad in nothing but sandwich wrapping, my attention is riveted on her ukulele. It must be said, I had already been rendered immune to her charms by reading Michael Parkinson's autobiography (Christmas prezzie) in which he mentions Lemmon saying Monroe was known as "30-Take Marilyn". On the Some Like It Hot set, Wilder told the other actors they had to be pitch-perfect for every take because if Marilyn remembered her lines and fluked a passable performance, that was the version he would print. The great writer-director termed her a nasty child. She had the last laugh because no one remembers how he died. (Of pneumonia, aged 95. He's buried next to Lemmon and not far from Marilyn, trivia fans.)

The generator is playing up, so the next bottle of wine is marginally chilled. We could use the fridge in the camper, but decide to rough it.

I love these al fresco movies. You bowl up, load the gear on the quadbike trailer, start trawling for a vacant site, air-kissing old friends as you go, and then spread out to dine under the stars. Or a gazebo, if you want to be pedantic.

Sure, the movie is only 2D, but who cares when you have 5S, for senses. Summer is all about getting back to basics; communing with nature. If a film isn't up to much, it can pay off in small ways. A few years ago at the Botanics we had Flying Down to Rio, with Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. For the title jaunt they were seated in a plane the size of a basketball stadium, with the two pilots behind spinning car steering wheels. I snorted merlot through my nostrils.

Daft 1950s sci-fi movies are always a winner, too, harking from an era when you sheathed an actor in tinfoil and called him the mighty robot Gort. It's all good fun. Now Weta Workshop does all the imagining for us, and maybe that's not a good idea.

The night stays dry, but fails to warm up. A chase sequence telegraphs that the famous end is nigh, so we plug in the portable cappuccino-maker for a nightcap. Daphne, Josephine (Tony Curtis) and Monroe leap into millionaire Osgood's speedboat to escape the hoods. A smitten Osgood will not be deterred by Daphne's rebuffs to marriage.

"I can never have children," she says. "We can adopt some," Osgood replies. "But you don't understand," Daphne finally groans, tearing off her wig, "I'm a man." Osgood smiles: "Well, nobody's perfect." It still works. The crowd laugh, clap and then gather themselves to go home.

"You know," I say, killing the generator, "the simple pleasures really are the best."

- © Fairfax NZ News