Then again, maybe I would not have avoided a thing. In Arthurian fashion, I have no ability to learn from people's past behavior.
That's right. I'm taking my mom to the movies.
On New Year's Day, my cousin B and I were discussing - like most people - Star Wars: The Force Awakens. I shared with B that I was going for my fourth viewing this week. On this outing, I will be taking my mom. My mom, uncharacteristically quiet beside me, piped up at this moment like a child with a secret. Let's call it the first understatement of 2016:
"I talk at the movies."
Yes, my mom talks at the movies. Not a little bit. And not quietly.
I've gone to the movies with my mom my whole life, but the first time I ever became aware of this particular habit was in 1999. My mom, dad, and I went to see The Sixth Sense. My dad instructed me, on that night, to sit between him and my mom. My dad doesn't really say much - ah, the second understatement of 2016! - and rarely makes demands. When he does, everyone listens to him. He's a real world Silent Bob. You know, minus the pot.
My dad told me to sit between them.
I sat.
The movie had been out for a few weeks. Everyone knew there was a twist, but in the days before social media it was easy to avoid learning the exact nature of the twist. This was my second viewing of the film, which means that for the duration of the movie my mom pestered me. Is the twist that the boy is Bruce Willis? Is the twist that the boy is dead? Is the twist that the boy is Bruce Willis' son? Is the twist, is the twist, IS THE TWIST? And what is dick-cheese? On and on. For two hours. My dad was very empathetic:
"Now you know why I told you to sit there."
Years later, I invited my parents to my house to watch Daniel Craig in a James Bond movie. Husband was out, kids were in bed, my parents are Bond fans. Popcorn, beer, what could go wrong?
Double-O-7 had sex with Strawberry Fields. That's what went wrong.
My mom was shocked. Shocked! Who has sex with someone they just met?! Well, James Bond. All the time. Annoyed, I grumbled that everyone has had sex with someone they just met. Horrified, she demanded to know if I engaged in such behavior. Now, normally I'm all about discussing my sex life in front of my dad. What daughter isn't? Instead I pretended to hear the baby cry.
In 2009, my mom and I went to see JJ Abrams' Star Trek. I was raised properly, by her. We are huge Trek fans. It was not a first viewing for either of us, thus affording my mom her viewing plan:
1. Choose a seat dead in the center of the theater.
2. Loudly announce your intent to "wait to use the bathroom and get concessions until after
the opening scene when [spoiler alert] Kirk's father is killed."
3. Refuse to be talked down from this plan.
4. Be horrified at the one time Kirk (almost) has sex.
 |
| Sorry for the noise, Steve and Eydie. |
And now to Argo. I took my mom for her birthday. Among the running commentary, one declaration was that the document shredding at the American embassy in Iran looked just like - just like - tax day when she and my dad go to the accountant. I mean, exactly like tax day. They shred everything! I mean, it's probably not important paperwork, but still. Just like tax day! A-ha-ha-ha-ha!!
Fortunately, the movie-talking gene skips a generation. Daughter, my little movie buddy, has inherited it. When Mark Watney couldn't believe his f***ing luck to get stranded on Mars, Daughter was horrified. Horrified, I say! A string of questions poured from her. Did I know there was cursing in this movie? Why did I bring her? Was there more cursing? She can be quite loud for a petite 10 year old girl.
Bottom line, if you ever see me at the movies, move.
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