The film double-header has become something of an emperor’s holy grail (to splice fables): with a paucity of revival theatres/drive-thru’s on hand, it seems the closest we’ll ever get to making out in the back of that topdown chevrolet is the gluttonous overkill of the 24 Hour Movie Marathon. In the meantime, stay-at-homes whose Eraserhead t-shirts have long since seen their last spin cycle can continue to wax elegiac: Everyone knows trash culture died the second it was wrung through the hands of a generation spoon-fed on borrowed nostalgia and nervously glanced is-anyone-else-dancing? Irony.