I had my own little quiet picnic at Hanging Rock this afternoon. Took the regional train to the tiny town of Woodend and then walked the five or so miles on the side of the highway to the reserve. I wanted to feel the mystic schoolgirl-stealing vibes of the place, but it’s a little hard when the lights are on and you see that it’s a public park no different than the ones we have back home. Picnic at Hanging Rock could have easily been Mystery at Mounds State Park or A Curious Incident at Turkey Run. Nonetheless, I climbed to the summit and stopped to eat a lunch I brought from Melbourne - an apple, carrot, some kind of meat pie, and a thing called a Real Australian Lambington - and then meditated/napped in a hollowed out geoform high above the valley. I haven’t read the book but Picnic at Hanging Rock the film is definitely one of those re-watchers where you ask yourself what kind of fever dream you just saw as the credits roll. Dense with mood and 70s teen melancholy, it plays out like a mix between Little House on the Prairie and The Virgin Suicides. I have a fanfic theory that what happened at Hanging Rock was basically an opening of a black lodge, possibly instantiated by an accidental ritual navigation of the rocks while the students were exploring. I can tell you it’s easy to get lost up there. Left past this one here, right past that one there, circle the other one, climb through a tunnel. Through the darkness of future past, the magician longs to see, one chance out between two worlds, fire walk with me. Different time and location, but both leading to the same place. Next thing you know, you’re on a black leather couch with Special Agent Dale Cooper and that gum you like is coming back in style.