So my parents’ disappointed love affair with the cinemah continues apace and apparently it’s all my fault for setting those crazy kids up.
I now get regular deflated updates on the status of their Netflix relationship. Basically, it would seem they’re dating for lack of anything better to do, going out with the guy you go out with just to have something to do on Saturday night. I mean, my dad has mastered tie-dye and stained glass and woodturning and rock stacking and indignant letter writing, eh, might as well move on to movie watching. My mom has mastered the art of being sick for over a quarter century, so it’s only a matter of time before a movie stumbles across her line of sight to make her forget she’s “sick” for approximately 93 minutes, even though I’m still crossing my fingers for that magic movie. Uhm, I think it’s called “The Afterlife.”
Turns out, my parents watched “On the Waterfront” and liked it, although Mom had to insist that Brando was not good-looking. Not her type. No way. Never.
“Tracey, he was NOT good-looking.”
Okay, Mom, whatever. Calm down. He was gross. Fine. You’re right.
Dad said, “We’re gonna watch ‘A Streetcar Named Desire’ next. Whaddya think?”
WhaddyI think? Uhm ….. uh ……. I think they should see it, and I think they will hate it. HATE it. HAAAAATE it.
I performed a verbal pirouette around THAT one, leaving it open, giving fair warning. I mean, they’re still bitter and ramped up about Citizen Kane and somehow these things all come back on my head. If I recommend a movie they hated, I have “gone against the family” and it’s all my fault and how oh how could I do that to them?
Recently, I told Dad to put a bunch of Hitchcock in his queue and he did.
So they watched Rear Window. And they did not like Rear Window.
Last week, we were at their house. Dad had printed out his queue and handed it to me to peruse. The two of them started in on poor Rear Window.
“I did not like Rear Window,” said Mom.
“Yeah. I don’t like Hitchcock,” said Dad.
“Okay,” said I.
“Well, it wasn’t suspenseful at ALL,” said Dad.
“YEAH,” agreed Mom.
“Okay,” said I.
They glared some blame at me.
“And what was Jimmy Stewart’s problem??” said Mom.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, he was a grouch!”
“I think that was just …. who his character was in that movie, Mom.”
“AND he didn’t want to marry Grace Kelly,” she continued.
“YEAH,” said Dad.
“Who doesn’t want to marry GRACE KELLY??”
Mom was out of her mind with indignation.
“I dunno. Do YOU want to marry Grace Kelly?”
I am a jerk.
“Tracey, come on.”
She glared at me some more. I think I’m the sole reason her face does that.
“Okay. Well, maybe don’t watch anymore Hitchcock, I guess.”
“Yeah. I like to be uplifted when I watch a movie,” said Dad.
You have to understand. My dad is Walter Mitty. He lives in his own little world and it’s not the world the rest of us live in. It’s nice where he is. It’s Disney, uncomplicated and sunny all the time. Even with mom’s “illness,” he lives in this place. Before she got sick, it was more of a vacation place he visited once in a while, but now he’s bought some land, built himself a cabin, probably stacked some rocks, and moved there on a permanent basis. It’s nice where he is, you see. There are no storms on his horizon.
So I began to rattle off a bunch of sports movies that I think he’d find “uplifting.” The Rookie. Hoosiers. Remember the Titans.
Then I mentioned The Mission and described it to them. It’s a bit of a litmus test. I threw that out there knowing there’s a good chance they won’t like it. I think it’s uplifting, in its own way, but maybe not in the way Dad means. He wants happy endings, not sacrificial endings. Still, if they don’t like The Mission, I am adopted. (I can hear it now. “Tracey, I didn’t like Robert DeNiro in that movie.” “He was a bad guy.” “People were naked.”)
Dad got out a pen and dutifully wrote all my suggestions down. Mom commented randomly.
“I don’t like that George Clooney.”
“Oh?”
“He’s in some new movie called The American.'”
“Uh-huh. Uhm, what’s wrong with that?”
“Well, he is NOT an American!”
See what I deal with?
“Uhm ….. wha …..”
“He doesn’t behave like an American.”
I don’t want to have this conversation.
“Okay.”
“I don’t like the way he behaves.”
“Okay.”
“Or that Glenn Close either.”
What has she done lately to make ANYONE mad? Besides, I’m pretty sure she doesn’t even know who Glenn Close is.
I glanced down at the queue and said, “Well, if she bugs you that much, you should take Paradise Road off the queue. She’s in it.”
“Ohh, Tracey. That won’t make a difference. I can still WATCH a movie she’s in.”
“Uh-huh. We’ll see.”
She rolled her eyes at me.
Dad put a quiet question mark next to Paradise Road.
Yeeaaah, Marlon Brando doesn’t flip my switch either.
Neither does Brad Pitt or Johnny Depp. And also? Not only do I find Woody Allen NOT funny, he makes me so angry I want to punch him in the face every time I see him. I am the Tracey’s Mom of the Movie World.
You’re a good daughter, Tracey.
Screenwriter Robert Avrech of “Seraphic Secret” has a chapter in his series, “How I Married Karen” where he takes her to his litmus test, deal-breaker, movie. Back in the day when you had to wait for things to show up at film festivals or art houses. This reminded me of that.
// a quiet question mark //
HAHAHAHA
The question mark KILLS me.
In re: uplifting movies – “Miracle.” I found myself willingly setting aside the knowledge of how the game ended, and Kurt Russell is essentially a time-warped Herb Brooks. You can barely tell it’s him at first. Good stuff.
Too funny – my friend Bill also says that he loves Rear Window and yet he finds the major premise to be totally unbelievable: that a man would NOT want to marry Grace Kelly.
Lisa — Oh, I wasn’t even defending Marlon Brando’s looks. She was off and running about that ALL by herself.
And Brad Pitt is icky. And I like Johnny Depp as an actor, but he does nothing for me …. in that way.
NF — Oh, yeah! I told him about Miracle too. He’ll object to the profanity. My parents are G-rated people trying to engage the R-rated world. It’s dicey at best.
I’m still not sure they DIDN’T watch Midnight Cowboy. I told them very adamantly NOT too, but Dad gets a weird haunted look in his eyes whenever it’s mentioned now.
Hell, I get a weird haunted look in my eyes when someone mentions Midnight Cowboy!
The Rookie is DEFINITELY a good choice. i love that movie.
sheila — That’s true. If any movie will give you a weird haunted look, it’s Midnight Cowboy.
Dad SAYS they didn’t watch it, but his look says “Si.”
Arg… they pull you into making these recommendations and then get all mad when they don’t like ’em. I’m thinking Elmo in Grouchland. Try that one. 🙂
Geez, I thought “I” was the only one that thought that Grace’s character could do a lot better than a poor, cantankerous photographer. It’s not so much that he wasn’t rich, and, let’s face it, professional photographer (for Life magazine?) is a pretty cool profession; but, come on, he treats her like crap!
How about “Seabiscuit”?
Um… maybe Field of Dreams? That’s uplifting, right?
Um… “Bella” was good and uplifting and very low key…
You might want to try them on some family fare type movies (live action films that are families can watch with their kids) like… The Princess Bride, Back to the Future, Seven Brides for seven Brothers, It’s a Wonderful Life, Whale Rider, Father of the Bride (new or old). Fly Away Home, Around the World in 80 Days… relentlessly wholesome stuff
Maybe even Shall We Dance (if they do subtitles – not the american version)
I get a huge kick out of this. Probably because my biological mother (step-mom is just “mom”) is worse. WAAAY worse. She refused to see movies for DECADES and finally broke down when the Passion of the Christ was out.
The next day she calls me. It was ok. She liked it… but “they really got John the baptist wrong, they didn’t capture his personality correctly…” They… what? Has she met him? I didn’t know what to do with her concern that people won’t really understand him PROPERLY. I didn’t know what to say. I told her that if PoC isn’t conservative and biblical enough for her… then movies just might not be right for her. Ever.