I'm pretty sure it was Hal Ashby—bless his snowy, reclusive beard—who introduced me to the concept of film snobbery. Growing up, my parents quoted Being There incessantly. "You tell Raphael," my mom would say, already giggling, "that I ain't taking no jive from no Western Union messenger." In my catalog of childhood memories, a contextless "Now get this, honky..." is as salient as Goodnight Moon or Young Guns II (my fave movie for more years than a mediocre Lou Diamond Phillips vehicle should warrant). Eventually, as a teen, there came a point when I needed to get to the bottom of this "You tell Raphael" situation. I headed to Scarecrow Video.

My friend and I searched high and low for Being There, among comedies, among classics. Being There failed to, you know, be there. Finally we asked the clerk. "Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," he sighed, exasperated. "It's in the Hal Ashby sectionnnnnnn?" He dragged his feet, and us, over to the shelf. Oh! Of fucking course! The HAL ASHBY SECTION. How gauche of me to even ask. Thank you, world-weary Scarecrow employee, for opening my eyes to this totally counterintuitive and pretentious system of organization. Asshole.

I get it now, Scarecrow, and I forgive you, and I apologize. But that's my first memory of Hal Ashby, from way back before it was my job to pay attention to who directed what. Last week I went to Shampoo—which I'd only seen once, forever ago—which was screening as part of the Ashby series at Northwest Film Forum. (The fully mesmerizing and parentally quoted Being There plays August 19 and 20. Go see it.)

I like Shampoo. I don't want to write too much about the film—it's been done, and well, in this paper already. Warren Beatty is so handsome, it's a joke—he's like a caricature of handsome. He's ridiculous. It's nice to be reminded of the beyond darling '70s Goldie Hawn, long before she assumed her current duties as Hollywood's Kooky Old Broad in Chief. Also, Julie Christie's hair is distracting. And in the Christie vs. Lee Grant Battle of the Cheekbones, I'd just like to say GRANT FTW!

Behind us, in the small, quiet theater, sat the world's four stonedest assholes. Their minds were blown by the existence of 1975. They spoke to each other at full volume. "Goldie Hawn?" "That IS Goldie Hawn!" "That's Goldie Hawn!" "She looks so young!" "Look at those pants!" "Apples! Thirty-nine cents a pound!" First of all, stoners, in 1975, Goldie Hawn was approximately (EXACTLY) 33 years younger than she is now. Pants were different then. Apples existed. How did you even end up at this movie? What is your QUESTION?

I delivered unto the stoners my stankiest eyeball. My friend turned around and ordered them to "PIPE DOWN." How dare they disrespect the films of Ashby with their inane questions? I think the Scarecrow clerk would have been proud. Hhhhhhhh.