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 DOGTOWN
ADJACENT: Woodland Hills, CA
In 1976, while the adults in our neighborhood fretted about embargoes,
gas lines, and water shortages, there were only two things that mattered
to us kids: the awesome new invention of the waterslide and the latest
issue of SkateBoarder magazine. Twenty miles to the south,
Tony Alva, Jay Adams, and the Zephyr Competition Skate Team were emerging
from "Dogtown" in Venice to earn increasing fame for their trophy-winning
feats. To us, they were already notorious for trespassing the backyards
of Pacific Palisades and Santa Monica homeowners to skate their drained
swimming pools.
At ten years old, twenty miles pretty much put us in Kansas, but
we emulated the older kids, and we were just as prone to fawning
over the pages of SkateBoarder. Some of our elder siblings
even told tantalizing tales of fence hopping forays where they skated
in the same pools - at the same time - as the Z-Boys. "Coooooool!"
we chorused.
It wasn't necessarily a "simpler time" - skateboarding's breakthrough
era - but it remembers that way. Period photographs, especially
Craig Stecyk and Glen E. Friedman's mystique-heavy images, often
resemble sun-drenched kids taking turns leaping from a quarry wall.
 The
Z-Boys' wall climbing innovation became a trend that parents were
less than thrilled with. The careless ones could be counted on to
either not be home or damn near charge admission. Only the occasional
broken arm would expose them to other Moms and Dads.
My own parents bought me the skateboard equivalent of an orthopedic
shoe. It had what my dad excitedly pointed out as a "tension bar,"
a piece of aluminum attached to each truck that was supposed to
pass for a shock absorber. What it really did was keep the cheap
plastic board from bending in the middle. A then hi-tech fiberglass
deck, the one with the racing stripe, was the one I'd asked for,
but at least there were other kids whose boards hadn't left the
Stone Age yet. Those poor shlubs were stuck with clay wheels. But
the older kids…they started to buy Dogtown boards and Tony
Alva specials.
Those were the kids that had previously gasped in horror at the
sight of the Dogtown sticker, and then the T-shirt. But to the rest
of us, that minor level of mainstreaming meant we could be in on
it too. And we were.
Today, Dogtown is a movie - a documentary with fancy financing by
Vans shoes and distribution by Sony Classics. At least it was made
by a former Z-Boy. But now all of us can be in on it - from those
there in Venice in '76 and earlier, to those who were a torturous
twenty miles away, and especially to those who were twenty
years away. So here's the skinny:
THE PREMIERE:
The Block at Orange
Okay, let's get the whole corporate thing out of the way first.
Yeah, Vans financed the movie. But even though Vans might as well
be Nike with regards to Dogtown and Venice Beach in the mid-70's,
former Z-Boy and Dogtown director Stacy Peralta was facing a void
when former backer Rhino Records pulled out at the last minute.
So somebody had to step in. In pitch meetings, the Vans attitude
was pretty much, "Hell yeah: Let's do it." And however much Vans
has super-evolved and made commercial puffery of skateboarding,
at least its lineage is there. (Until 1980, when punk rock precluded
me from being caught dead in anything but angry boots, I'd beg my
mom for months to taken to the ramshackle hut in the West San Fernando
Valley where the shoes were sold.)
Besides, mega-money laments and corporate exploitation aside, who
else was going to make this movie, Bruckheimer? My ass. With every
other fissure, abyss and social order of the earth documented, online,
or on the shelves of the Discovery Store, this was one era of the
world hadn't yet barcoded. It was only right that an actual Z-Boy
be the one to take it public. In the process, the former Dogtowners
were recognized with a nicely budgeted celebration. And the award-winning
film - the ninety minutes of adoration that it is - is pretty cool
too.
 THE
MOVIE: Dogtown and Z-Boys
The movie screened at The Block's AMC multiplex and made it's rambunctious
audience, comprised almost of entirely of us (thirty-) and them
(forty-somethings), very happy. There was plenty of club wreckage
in attendance, as evidenced by the hard livin' facial fault lines,
the tattoos, the post-childbirth leather pants, and the now-musty
smell of defiance. It was funny watching people accustomed to seeking
out a cool place to lean in a bar locate the right theater seat.
Outside, multiplex staffers pestered the Vans folks about the security
of a theater full of taggers, drummers, skaters, parolees and groupies.
But inside, there were howls, hellos, and hi-fives shared among
the biggest names in the sport.
The place went nuts when the lights finally dimmed and what came
up for many was a time machine, convincingly narrated by Sean Penn.
For others, such as the Wyoming-born Vans payroll accountant next
to me, it was lesson number one in Southern California ancestry
- a compelling if fawning look at a significant cultural period.
Some of the Z's were in attendance, and it was kind of poignant
watching them watch themselves. Stacy Peralta's collection of vintage
Super 8 footage is definitely the film's star, making it possible
for the rest of us to witness the beginnings of what is now a $3-billion
per-year industry. (Even if, in this case, those beginnings meant
eleven teenagers and a couple of well-meaning pot-head adults).
It was an era born of mischief, marijuana, and maple wood.
The film has been criticized for being too soft on the harsh reality
that followed some of the Z-Boys in the wake of their being capitalized
on. But so what? This isn't the first lopsided documentary. Besides,
this is footage of what all of them have described as some of the
most cherished years of their lives. And hell, I watched half the
aging Zephyr Skate Team, wives and kids in tow, laugh, pinch, whisper,
and elbow each other during their segments. They're okay
with what made the cut. The audience was too. The damn thing rocks.
Go see it.
 THE
PARTY: Vans Skate Park
The premiere party celebrated all things skateboard: attitude, music,
style, risk, and female participation as never before. Since it
was held in a skate park, several of the facility's main ramps and
bowls were open for exhibition. By the time the screening crowd
showed up, the place was, as the kids say, "in full effect." Making
it a real Skate-a-Palooza was the stage, with the full rock-n-roll
truss and lighting set-up. On it, aging punk rockers The Adolescents
and dinosaurs of defiance Suicidal Tendencies blasted through breakneck
standards.
While fierce music filled the park, slower moving folk took advantage
of the catered Mexican fiesta up top and all the brew their beer-bellies
could handle. Every nook and cranny of the place was filled with
old-school music scenesters, seasoned skaters, and young kids with
their moms, ready to take them home.
Said a profusely sweating Tony Alva, as he climbed out of the "comby"
(square and round pools connected in what can only be described
as an intimidating combination to the novice), "I just wanted to
get the session started."
Boy, did he. Taking turns "dropping in" after Alva were some of
the sport's most accomplished professionals, such as Omar Hassan,
Steve "Salba" Alba and local hero Dave Ruel. True to form, Alva
and these others weren't at the screening; they were here, already
taking the kids to school.
Cheering his every grind, along with everyone else, was Peggy Oki,
the lone Z-girl. She was in good company, with many, many young
girls and female competitors studying Alva's every run. Here was
the 44-year-old Alva - the Moses of skating - doing what has come
naturally to him for over 25 years: defying gravity and looking
good doing it. And once again, the younger kids wanted in on it.
 THE
HANGOVER:
The pain began immediately, like 20 minutes after I showed up. I
slipped on one of those damn skate ramps as I tried to snap a picture,
taking out a soccer mom and her little girl as I landed square on
my knee, (and them). It was excruciating; I had to sit down for
a full five minutes and pretend like I wasn't rubbing my leg. In
those moments, lookin' around and watching kid's faces, it hurt
to be older. But with all the tattoo-covered guys and gals who'll
be using walkers a lot sooner than I will it was easier to get back
up and move about. At midnight the place went nuts when the Suicidal
Tendencies played their teen angst anthem, "Institutionalized."
THE WIDE RELEASE:
Dogtown will open in wide release if it does well in limited. It's
rated PG-13 "for language and some drug references," but don't let
that stop you from taking your 10-year-old aspiring skate pros -
you took them to see Training Day, didn't you? (I jest. Of course
you didn't.) Just take them (or anyone else, for that matter) who
has ever looked twice at a skateboard.
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