The Bright, Catchy Tune That Obscured a Glimpse Into the Darkest, Most Morally Corrupt Corners of Suburbia.
For those of us who came of age with the music of Steely Dan, the initial experience was always one of deep, unsettling satisfaction. We were drawn in by the immaculate production, the smooth, jazzy sophistication, and the sheer intellectual horsepower of Walter Becker and Donald Fagen. But a song like “Everyone’s Gone To The Movies”, from the pivotal 1975 album Katy Lied, proved that the velvet glove always concealed an iron fist, capable of delivering a subject matter so chilling, yet wrapped in a melody so utterly irresistible, that it felt like a moral conundrum set to music.
It is crucial to set the record straight: like many album cuts from Steely Dan, “Everyone’s Gone To The Movies” was never released as a commercial single and therefore holds no official chart position. The album it came from, Katy Lied, was, however, a substantial hit, peaking at No. 13 on the US Billboard Top LPs & Tape chart and featuring the minor hit single “Black Friday.” Yet, even as the album found success, Becker and Fagen were in a state of creative and technical distress—a drama that adds a poignant layer to the music. The duo had just dissolved the original touring band to focus solely on studio work, a decision that ushered in the era of using the finest session musicians in Los Angeles. Ironically, a technical failure during the mixing of Katy Lied—a suspected defect in the new Dolby noise reduction system—led Fagen to famously declare he could barely stand to listen to the final product, feeling the finished master sounded flat and distorted compared to the pristine quality he and Becker demanded.
The story behind this particular track is one of the darkest corners of the Steely Dan songbook, and what truly solidified their reputation as masters of lyrical subterfuge. Cloaked in a deceptively jaunty, almost calypso-like rhythm, the song appears on the surface to be a nostalgic, light-hearted ditty about kids being invited over to a neighbor’s house for a private viewing. The narrator, the unsettling figure of “Mr. LaPage,” is painted as a jolly, permissive uncle: “He’s always laughing, having fun / Kids if you want some fun / Mr. LaPage is your man.”
The chilling meaning only reveals itself with a close reading of the lyrics—a signature challenge Steely Dan always posed to their informed audience. Mr. LaPage is not showing the children Bambi or Old Yeller. The chilling lines, “You’re used to sixteen or more / Sorry we only have eight,” clearly refer to the size of film stock, indicating that the ‘movies’ are, in fact, 8mm pornography. The chorus, “Everyone’s gone to the movies / Now we’re alone at last,” delivered with such breezy, inviting charm by Fagen, is a moment of pure, horrifying irony: it’s the voice of the groomer, using the absence of the parents (who are at the real cinema) to lure the minors with illicit entertainment.
This track is the essence of Steely Dan’s dramatic genius: taking a morally repugnant subject—the grooming and exploitation hidden behind the veneer of suburban respectability—and fusing it with a sophisticated, highly polished piece of pop-rock. For listeners in the mid-seventies, it served as a stark, unforgettable reminder that the sleek, cool music they loved was never just for fun; it was a mirror reflecting the seedy, transgressive truths that lay just beneath the surface of the American dream. The sheer musical brilliance demands you tap your foot, even as the lyrical revelation forces your blood to run cold.