Modified Movie Night

Oct 19th, 2010

When my husband I were first married we had very specific video selection rules for each other at Blockbuster on Saturday nights.

Me, the blushing bride: “If the picture on the front has a sweaty man holding a gun, forget it.”

My Dear Husband: “If the picture on the front has three women in the Tuscan countryside holding wine glasses, forget it.”

That meant war so I vetoed all gambling, mob and war movies. He vetoed all menopausal chick flicks wherein the Diane Keaton-playing protagonist rediscovers how amazingly awesome she is, that she doesn’t need men to be happy, and then magically becomes a famous shoe designer. I nixed gratuitous violence and basketball movies. He retaliated by nixing Drew Barrymore from our house altogether. I barred bank robbery hijinks movies, old and new, even if that meant I had to sacrifice Clive Owen. We agreed somewhere over a bit of Tarantino, some Oliver Stone, weird indie flicks and a few foreign films. Sometimes he thought he was slick by trying to sell me on all the Oceans movies because of the Brad Pitt clause and The Bourne movies as he said there was a hidden love story underneath all the action. Sure, honey.

Today as parents, we’ve cast an even wider exclusionary net.

As the dad of two young daughters he is sickened now more than ever by “Dateline”, anything with domestic violence, kids being abducted, general violence towards woman and children. He doesn’t even want the news on as background noise. It does feel like Amber Alerts are a daily occurrence, but I actually want to watch How to Catch a Perve to glean tips on what not to do.

As a mom, I am now completely over dystopian, apocalyptical flicks which include but are not limited to: aliens taking over the world; a meteor heading for earth to kill us all; the food supply is gone from a cataclysmic hurricane/tornado/tsunami and we have to eat each other; a deadly viral outbreak that only Tom Cruise can save us all from; and, the entire population has turned into blood thirsty zombies who are all after one renegade pregnant lady who doesn’t know she is carrying the next Dalai Lama. I guess all that anxiety-for-fun movie watching is not what I need anymore. Being the protector of two small children has made me painfully anxious and aware of the frailty of our existence, thank you very much.

So what is left? Sometimes I can sweet talk him into “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind”, “Good Will Hunting”, “500 Days of Summer”, “Reality Bites”. But it’s rare. He wants action. I want character-driven plot, perfectly-pitched dialogue and a good cry. He wants to be wowed. I want to feel. We can agree on “Almost Famous”, “Little Miss Sunshine”, anything with the brilliant Natalie Portman, and “Fight Club” (the bloody violence in the fight sequences are cancelled out by Brad’s ripped nakedness).

Thankfully, we never have these arguments anymore since we have zero spare time to movie watch. On our rare and precious date nights, we want to actually talk. Check in. Reconnect. How are you…really? How are we? We prefer talking over sitting next to each other in a dark theatre watching a crappy movie any day. And we always agree on that.