Yesterday, I had the pleasure of guest posting at Educlaytion, a blog by Clay Morgan, a talented pop culture guru and history professor. Each Friday Clay runs a Friday Flick Face-off, where he picks a theme and pits movies up against each other, with readers having the chance to vote for their favourite. For my guest post, I selected 5 movies that I love that have Canadian connections. Check out the post here.
Guest blogging outside of my usual content area was a lot of fun. I actually had to do something called research. Only rarely do I google something for my blog (though recently I tweeted a pressing research question: What is the name of the Backyardigan that’s pink, spotted, and ugly?)
My memories of films, however, have not always been this positive. My first horrific experience with movies was in October 1993. It was the day I found out my grandmother had just died. I was at university and had spent the day making travel arrangements and talking to professors about alternative due dates. I had a melt down while trying to buy bread. A friend offered to take me to a movie. Whatever we wanted to see was sold out. So I said, “I’m in the mood for something light and happy. How about True Romance?”
Into the theatre we went, more naïve than preschoolers watching Sex and the City. If you haven’t seen True Romance, let me just say it’s neither true nor romantic, nor does it star Meg Ryan. My husband describes it as “technicolor violence.” I’m not sure what that means, but True Romance makes Rambo look like a Jane Austen flick.
For entirely different reasons, another movie I dislike is Titanic. Yes, I know James Cameron is Canadian, but patriotism is overrated. Titanic was the first movie my husband and I saw together. We met in Bahrain, and weeks after we started dating, we decided to do the obligatory movie night. Between calls-to-prayer, we walked to the theatre and sat amidst a crowd young Bahrainis who had the entire script memorized.
It wasn’t long after the opening credits rolled that I realized I despised Titanic. First of all, it was structurally inaccurate: since Old Rose is narrating the events of her voyage, how could she remember scenes she wasn’t in? Plus, jaded me didn’t buy the seemingly-pubescent Leonardo DiCaprio as the love interest.
Unbeknownst to me, my husband-to-be also hated the movie, but he was worried I was loving it. He says the moment he saw my face basking in blue indi-glow light (from checking my watch repeatedly), he knew we were kindred spirits. From that point on, when our fellow moviegoers were reciting lines, we were whispering snarky comments to each other, like “I’m glad the boat took only three hours to sink.”
Our kids may have inherited this love-hate relationship with movies, but this post is not about them. It’s about movies and me. And it’s also a bit of a selfish lead in to a series I’ll be doing in a week: Ironic Mom Goes To Hollywood. I have tickets to Oprah’s Annual After Oscar Party at the Kodak Theatre, and I’m bringing my sister, as well as Thing 1 and Thing 2 (the miniature versions that fit in my purse and don’t require oxygen or food).