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It’s an American classic and my Number One favorite movie, so it’s really quite sad that I didn’t discover Animal House until a year ago.  I could blame my home schooling, my charm school diploma, or the fact that I’m a girl.  Instead I’ll just hop on my Second City soapbox and evangelize the glorious beauty of Delta Tau Chi.

About a year ago I fell under the violent throes of one of my pop culture “phases” and committed myself to the diligent study of all things related to The Second City- the improv theater powerhouse famous for breeding a hearty portion of the greatest comedy talent in the Western hemisphere.  Had I but known what this casual fascination would bring about, I would have perhaps warned my loved ones of the imminent lecture series on all things Belushi, Fey, and Myers.  I’m sure they weren’t surprised, and they occasionally return my calls, so I’ll take that as my cue to infect the internet with a portion of my alarming pool of Second City trivia.

It became clear about three pages into Sheldon Patinkin’s biography of the theater that I had to drop everything else in my life to watch Animal House immediately, as I had somehow reached the tender age of 27 and was suddenly very aware that I had missed something very, very important. A similar incident happened at 25 when I discovered Pink Floyd; my only defense is to play the Home School card.  I could also play the Girl card, but that’s really NO excuse.

Some films, like great literature and Belgian beer are an acquired taste- Animal House is not one of those films.  It’s brilliance is subtle, like John Belushi being let loose on the cafeteria line or John Landis pelting the cast with beer bottles throughout taping to keep them on their toes.  It took no more than a naked, headless mannequin crashing through the window of the Delta house in its advanced state of blight to win my attention.  By the time I met Otter and Boone twelve minutes in, I was forever lost.  I found it inescapably fascinating that a movie set in the Sixties and written in the Seventies could so vividly reenact my college experience of the Early 21st Century!  I’d go into more detail, but that would require a serious breach of my No Blogging About Love Life decree.

The Deltas hit my life like Kismet.  I was too much of a prude in the past to really appreciate the sweet depravity, and wouldn’t have thought to pay attention to what Belushi was shoving in his mouth had I not understood his theatrical training under the legacy of Viola Spolin and the philosophies that have breathed depth into American wit for nearly 50 years.  There is an organic spirit of play running through each scene (many written by my Ultimate Crush, Harold Ramis).  I wound up filling a bookshelf with Belushi’s biography, Chris Miller’s The Real Animal House, textbooks on Improvisation from The Second City syllabus, and a copy of the original script.  Obsessive?  Yes.  Creepy?  Probably.  Futile and stupid?  Hell no.  This movie makes me happy, I always think I’m not going to like it as much as I did when I watched it last month/week/yesterday but I do!  It makes me laugh out loud every time, in fact, I usually add a new “favorite bit” to every viewing. 

So if you’re like me and you’ve gotten to an embarrassing age sans Delta, you have some homework to do (you don’t have to read all the books, but I’m more than happy to share a comprehensive works cited for any awesome grad students out there).  In the meantime, I won’t be letting my seven years of college go down the drain.