At the Movies

Do people really like to be known as avid ‘film-goers’? Well, maybe ‘film-goers’ are alright because films sound so fancy - not like ‘movies’ at all really. And I think ‘films’ are considered to be on a different level, aren’t they? Sort of in the same way being an ‘adult’ (pronounced ah-DULT, of course) is not really the same thing as being a ‘grown-up’. Ah-DULT’s enjoy films as a brief respite from reading thick dusty novels, drinking brandy from warm snifters or smoking a pipe while playing the cello. It’s not really their main scene, as such, but if there’s something good on at the ‘cinema’ (read, Cineplex), something with subtitles and obscure symbolism then…Well, alright, old boy. Just this once, tut, tut!
I’m all for the high end movies as well - in fact here in Owen Sound we’re lucky enough to have a gallery that brings us to the cinema for some really thought-provoking films. They always seem to be available on a rainy Sunday afternoon, too, which sets the scene nicely. Through them I’ve seen some of my favourite movies - Hotel Rwanda, The Painted Veil, Dear Frankie (you really need to see this one, I promise you) - all alone in the dark and munching on chocolate almonds. Pure bliss. My only complaint is that the other ah-DULTs never seem to get snacks - who watches movies without snacks, I ask you?
So yes, I do enjoy ‘films’. But I really, really enjoy ‘movies’ too. Just as much as I enjoy books and music and warm brandy. Actually, I detest warm brandy, but you get my drift. There’s a certain artistic snobbery attached to film these days. It’s still not quite as bad as television, I hear, but it’s getting worse. Nobody wants to admit that their children watch television - which is what mine are doing right now, by the way - and if they do watch television it’s only PBS. Or the Discovery channel. Never more than 20 minutes a day at most. And never the Simpson’s. EVER!! I myself took the kids to see the Simpson’s movie. Read from that what you will.
A lot of people associate certain smells with their past, or certain music. I do that as well (oranges and sweet almonds make me think of my room in Switzerland; Danny Boy brings me back to my Grandpa’s funeral) - but there are also certain movies that evoke instant memories for me. Like ’Bridget Jones’ Diary’. It may sound cliché, but the first weekend my husband had taken the kids and I was completely alone for the first time in about 7 years, Bridget helped me. I watched it over and over again, (I think I even perfected her ‘All By Myself’ solo from the opening credits) not feeling any better or worse about my situation, just focused on where I was. Sitting on a couch that was now mine and mine alone, huddled under a quilt my Nana had bought me for my birthday. And watching Bridget finally find her Mr. Darcy at 33 or whatever. It made me feel - safe. And sort of strong.
Back further, when Callum was 2 and Ben was a newborn. Every morning at around 5 o’clock Callum would wake me up to go downstairs and watch 101 Dalmations. It was winter, the floors were cold and Callum was wearing his Winnie the Pooh slippers. Little Ben was curled up asleep, fleecy warm under our mutual blanket asleep. A light snow was falling and I was so tired I didn’t think I could carry on. But then I would hear Callum warble “Cruella Da Bil! Cruella Da Bil!” with his little lisp. And I could indeed carry on.
So many memories of mine come with a movie soundtrack - such as all of the women in my family sobbing wildly during “Steel Magnolias” (there’s that inexplicable sense of comraderie that comes from twenty women with snotty noses), or watching “Hallowe’en” with my boyfriend at 18 in the dark in my parent’s rec room (for obvious reasons) and the first time I watched “Stepmom” after my kids had a Stepmom. To see all of my un-named, slightly selfish fears acted out by Miss Susan Sarandon was…maybe not fun but noteworthy. The movies didn’t change anything for me, but they seemed to help me earmark moments I wanted for later. Moments like being a 15 year old girl who’s fighting with her step father. For the 10 000th time and she’s tired and misunderstood and a little lonely. But later, when she’s watching Out of Africa alone, her stepfather finds her. She knows he hates this movie, but he stays for the whole four hours. Just with her. To get to know what she likes, to let her know all that she is becoming to him without saying a word. That, right there, is show biz, folks.