‘Grindhouse’ is an epic of flashback exploitation

I relived the 1970s last night. And the experience had nothing to do with LSD or PTSD flashbacks – which, of course, is something to be thankful for.

No, what happened was I took my brother to see “Grindhouse.” See, between the years 1970 and ’76, I lived in San Diego. Having returned from Vietnam (and immediately been discharged from the Army), I moved to San Diego to be near my family. I spent the next half-dozen years getting my bachelor’s degree and working at my first job (which was good, if nothing else, for paying off my student loans).

Drive-ins were still popular in those days. And particularly popular were the kinds of films that Robert Rodriguez and Quentin Tarantino lampoon/pay homage to in “Grindhouse,” movies that featured muscle cars ( “Vanishing Point” ), zombies (“Night of the Living Dead”), psycho killers (“Blood Feast” ), blaxploitation (“Cool Breeze”) and weird concoctions that defy description ( “Black mama, White Mama” ).

Tarantino and Rodriguez, apparently, saw such movies in downtown movie houses, the kind that would run all night, would be filled with every kind of clientele and that – often as a result – would boast floors sticky with substances not easy to identify.

I preferred sitting in my own car. Either way, the films were entertaining in a way that appeals to those in their 20s who love to push the boundaries of what their parents have deemed is decent. And I definitely wanted to push those boundaries.

Of course, I discovered that not everyone wanted to go with me. One woman I lived with for a year, wanted to go with me to a triple feature in Carlsbad , a beach community north of San Diego. Against my better judgment, I agreed – the first film was Wes Craven’s “The Last House on the Left” – and at one point in the film, when one of the psycho killers begins filleting our young heroine, my girlfriend began to scream. Bummer.

So my brother, though five years young than I, made a better moviegoing partner. He, at least, laughed at such crude filmmaking while laughing at the contention (Craven’s and the few critics at the time who took him seriously) that “Last House on the Left” was based on Ingmar Bergman’s 1960 film “The Virgin Spring.”

The great thing about “Grindhouse” is that while both Rodriguez and Tarantino (especially Tarantino) likely know about “The Virgin Spring,” neither is trying to remake it. They’re merely making a film that tries to recapture what it was like to see an exploitation-film double feature, complete with “coming attractions.”

I haven’t seen my brother smile that much in years. Maybe not since the ’70s.

Below: Robert Rodriguez and Quentin Tarantino celebrate at the premiere of their film “Grindhouse.”

Associated Press photo