I remember the very first time I saw this film. It was 1985 and I was just seven years old. We were on a family holiday in Tasmania and staying with well-to-do friends. They were so well-to-do in fact that they had a VHS video recorder, which was a big deal at the time.
My brother was quick to capitalise on this rare opportunity. While on a grocery mission at the local shops, he somehow persuaded my parents to hire us a copy of the said movie. Back at the house, we waited until the grown ups were safely out of ear-shot and then gingerly inserted the cassette into the machine. My brother assured me we were in for a wild ride.
And so followed 2 hours of hilarious comedy and exhilarating action (yes, including the scene of a car driving off a bridge more than a mile high) that thoroughly expanded the horizons of an impressionable seven-year-old. The star-studded cast of musicians that played throughout (Aretha Franklin, James Brown and Ray Charles to name a few) wouldn't be appreciated until I was older, but I'm sure it had a subconscious effect on my tastes. It was probably also the first time I had heard anyone say the 's' word on the television... always a thrilling experience at that age.
Needless to say I was impressed - The Blues Brothers was the best thing I had ever seen, but imagine how strange my perspective was. Through the wonders of VHS cassette duplication and distribution, the myth of 'Chicago' - where the movie was filmed - had been lodged in my head. Here was a seven year old boy in Tasmania whose mind was now racing with images of a far-off city and the sounds of a strange accent.
Fast forward 27 years to where I happen to be in Chicago visiting a friend. With a kind of slow-dawning surprise, I realised that The Blues Brothers wasn't just a huge Alice-In-Wonderland fantasy imagined and constructed by over-zealous Hollywood producers. No, in fact here were the real streets, the real buildings and the real accents. I became insistent with my friend. "We have to drive down one of those streets!", I repeated. "I want to see where they did that high speed chase... I want to see where they had that apartment by the rail road tracks!" Finally my poor friend Carla acquiesced. We drove down the streets, and I had my proof.
But why was this so important to me?
Was it the same for The Blues Brothers as it was for the Space Shuttle?
Why did I need to see it with my own eyes?
I've heard of Christians making trips to Jerusalem, and of course there is the Muslims' pilgrimage to Mecca. I wonder if what I'm doing is a similar thing?
I guess the next time I watch The Blues Brothers, I won't feel quite the same. My experience in Chicago will have changed the way I relate to the film and its story. I will certainly be able to more critically discern those parts that are pure fantasy with those that are more real, but is that kind of thing even important? I wonder if the Haj changes a Muslim's relationship with Allah or a Christian's pilgrimage transforms their ideas about Jesus?
For now all I can say is that I'm very glad I never identified so strongly with the story of Santa Claus and his reindeer. In Chicago, the chance to drive down the same streets as Jake and Elwood seemed too strong to resist. Thankfully the narrative of Saint Nick was just a little too fantastic to spike the same curiosity of a seven year old boy in Tasmania. Or maybe its just lucky that the Greyhound bus network doesn't go that far north yet.
Carla, do you have a pair of skis I could borrow?
