A kadobol (or ka-double feature) was a second film that was supposed to add value to one’s movie ticket. But it really served as time-filler while the film reels for the main feature were rushed to and shown in the other moviehouse across the street. 😉
A kadobol was often randomly selected, forgettable and boring — the moviehouse equivalent of the song on the ‘B-side’ of a hit record. (Think Duran Duran’s Make Me Smile on the flipside of The Reflex*). So at various times, us kids suffered through B-grade costume dramas, a coming-of-age movie from Israel, a documentary about General MacArthur, film footage from the wedding of a celebrity couple, and film footage from the funeral (I kid you not) of a starlet who famously died of leukemia.
But once in a while, a kadobol would turn out to be equally, if not more, memorable than the main feature. A horror film, for example.
When I was seven, the final scene of Burnt Offerings gave me such a fright that I slipped and literally tumbled down the tiered aisle of the moviehouse! They had to pick me up from the bottom of the steps and as I made my way back to my seat, I saw everyone along the aisle trying to brush off from their hair and clothes the contents of my giant pack of corn chips. :D)
But the most memorable kadobol of all was A Danish Love Affair.
It was the kadobol of Superman: The Movie. We wanted to see Christopher Reeve run faster than a speeding bullet so our parents brought us girls (4 giggly pre-teens) to watch Superman. The title ‘A Danish Love Affair‘ sounded innocent enough and promised a plot along the lines of Love Affair (1939), so my parents thought nothing of it.
Big mistake. It turned out that A Danish Love Affair‘s original title was ‘Danish Pillow Talk’ and there was nothing quaintly romantic about it.
Yes, it was that kind of movie.
For some reason, one scene in particular stood out for me and my sisters:
A naked couple is in bed ‘doing the nasty’. But it seems only one of them (the man) is enjoying it because as he humps away (haha), the woman (completely unmoved) ignores him and reads a book.
Finally, sweaty and out-of-breath from his under-appreciated exertions, the man stops. The woman peers down at him and asks: “Are you finished?”.
He manages to gasp out, “Not yet.”
She sighs, rolls her eyes and with a tone of bored resignation says, “Go on” and goes back to her book.
He goes right back to humping, in the manner of a wind-up toy. 😀
Now, those were more innocent times and we did not really comprehend what was going on, but we thought the scene was hilarious. For weeks, it became a running joke for us girls. Every time we found ourselves in the same room, one of us would start the dialogue:
“Are you finished?”
At dinner, we (including a sister who was then only 5 years old), would bounce on our seats, mimicking the humping movement while gleefully reciting those three lines. Our parents never once showed any reaction. There were no frowns, no sighs, no raised eyebrows, no shushing. Not even when our chairs started creaking with all the simulated humping. 😀
Instead, Dad and Ma stoically bore their mortification and silently rued that Sunday family outing when they (unwittingly) treated their pre-teen daughters to a tub of popcorn and some Scandinavian soft-porn.
(* how Eighties can I get?)