Movie Effects

I’m a total crybaby at the movies.  I cry at anything sad, joyful, terrifying, dramatic.  When my husband and I were dating, we saw Meet Joe Black, a movie where Brad Pitt played Death, who, after taking over the body of a doomed yet brilliantly handsome sap, called himself Joe Black, fell in love with a girl and somehow traded places with Anthony Hopkins so Joe could live on earth?  Whatever.  It was not a great movie.  It touched me so much that I spent 30 minutes in the car after the movie sobbing while my now-husband-then-boyfriend sat in the driver’s seat, uncomfortable because he was unsure exactly how long he should wait after I was done crying to try to get in my pants.  I also cry – I mean, really cry – any time I see the “Be Our Guest” scene in Beauty and the Beast.  Yes, the Disney version.  It’s so sweet, the little furnishings have been cooped up in that big, dreary castle for so long, and they finally, FINALLY have some company, just one girl who they are so desperate to impress… Like I said, total crybaby.

Anyway.  The kids and I were talking about movies that move us to tears.  My list was long and varied (Empire of the Sun, Schindler’s List, the aforementioned Beauty and the Beast, Terms of Endearment, The Wizard of Oz - when Judy Garland sings "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" - forget it, I'm done for).  My daughter has only cried at one film: Hachi, the old story of a dog who was so devoted to his master that he waited for him at the train station every day after work, even after *SPOILER ALERT* his master dies.  Richard Gere stars as the ill-fated master.  You can find it at any grocery store or bargain bin at the local discount store.  It is a sad, sad movie, and if you cried through Marley & Me, you’ll be positively dehydrated after this one.  I don’t even like dogs, and I had a post-crying headache for days after watching this movie.

My husband always cries at sports movies.  These gems of cinema are designed to touch us all with the appeal of the loser coming out on the other side, victorious.   Remember the Titans, The Blind Side, Rudy, Rocky; if there’s a coach and at least one underdog in it, he’s stuffing tissues up his nose like I stuffed them into my bra when I was thirteen. 

My son is careful to reveal anything about himself that might paint a picture of him as less than macho.  He listened to our crybaby stories and then thoughtfully said, “You know what movie makes me cry?” 

We quietly anticipated hearing what movie makes him tear up, what cracks that eye-poppingly frustrating indifference of his. 

“Which one?”  I ask.

“The Legend of Gator Face,” he replies. 

Man, I love my kids.  The End.

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