Dreaming and Waking

I came home from seeing Rent one evening late last week and I gave Russ a quick review of what I thought of the movie. I ended my micro-review with: "Bring tissues. I cried." Russ gave me a funny look and said: "Of course you cried. You are leaky that way."

Huh. I don't have that image of myself in my head. When I was a kid, and right through my teen years, I didn't cry in movies.

When I look back, it seems funny that I didn't cry in movies. My overactive imagination meant that even slightly scary stories made me react. When scary things would start happening, I would close my eyes and plug my ears, or stare at the floor and try to think about something else, or hold my candy or drink up close to my face to block the screen (that's the technique I used during the scary moments of Pinocchio; I saw a showing in a movie theatre when I was really little - it was the first movie I saw in the theatre - and I vividly remember having a red lollipop that I held up to block the screen). But I never cried in a movie. Not even during Bambi.

I remember the first movie I cried during. It was What Dreams May Come, in 1998. I saw it in the theatre twice, and both times I started crying about 15 minutes in and didn't stop until the closing credits. It was a sudden change from my previous stoic movie watching to almost sobbing in a theatre surrounded by strangers.

I wish I could claim that Russ' vivid memory of watching me sob through that one film (twice) was the cause of my reputation as one who cries in movies. I am vaguely embarrassed to admit that I cry in movies a lot more now. All the time, in fact. I cried during The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, Big Fish and A Series of Unfortunate Events. My eyes welled up during Harry Potter & the Goblet of Fire and Finding Nemo. And I started crying before the sad part really started in Rent, because I knew it was coming.

I wish it was just a movie theatre thing. If it was, I could claim that I just got caught up in the dark room full of other people feeling sad, who are maybe crying too. No such luck: I cried watching A Walk to Remember on TV yesterday afternoon, in my well-lit livingroom, while knitting at the same time. For that matter, I get teary during certain commercials. I can't watch the Ronald MacDonald House commercial, about the man whose wife and son are both in the hospital; it makes me cry.

I bet Bambie would make me cry now too.

Better late then never - some notes on my fandom weekend:

Friday night: As previously mentioned, we went all the way out to Langley to see Charlie and the Chocolate Factory in IMAX. We got to the theatre at about 5 PM to buy tickets for the 7 PM show, and basically went straight into the line. As a result, we got good seats, and all five of us could sit together.

Saturday: Russ was so sweet to drive me to the store to buy the new Harry Potter book. I read it in between box packing.

Sunday morning: Got up early to finish the Harry Potter book. I'm not going to say much about it because I know a lot of people haven't been able to read it yet, but I would recommend that you count on reading the last 60 or so pages all at once without interruptions.

Sunday afternoon: The Buffy sing-a-long at the movie theatre. It was so cool to see Hush and the musical with that many Buffy fans, on the big screen.

I did manage to cram a bunch of packing and sorting in too, but the weekend was definitely dominated by my favourite media and pop (geek?) culture preoccupations!

When I was a little kid, I didn't watch Saturday morning cartoons. My mom didn't want us to watch them, so they weren't ever on in the house. When I was really little, I thought cartoons only played in hotels, because we only watched them when we stayed in one.

I don't feel like I missed anything by not watching cartoons, but I know that the lack of cartoons means I don't have them in common with my peers. So it delights me when I find other childhood pop culture pieces in common with people.

Some random bits of my childhood that some people have never heard of, but others remember with great fondness:

Bunnicula: Books, the whole series. I love the mental image I still have of the cat trying to pound the steak through the bunny's heart.

Where the Wild Things Are: I loved that book!

The Peanut Butter Solution: Movie. I love the reactions of people who have never seen this movie when they hear a plot summary. You see, there's this boy who loses his hair. And he gets this formula to help him grow it again, involving putting peanut butter on his head. And his hair won't stop growing, but it is magical hair. People make paintbrushes out of his hair which paint magical paintings with single strokes and you can walk into them. It is a real movie; other people have seen it!

Waterbabies: The original, classic book. One of my favourites; I used to dream that I was a waterbaby.

Snugglebums: Toys. I don't know if there was a TV show or anything about these, I just remember wanting the toys when I was little. For whatever reason, Mom didn't like them (I think she thought they were ugly), so I made myself a Snugglebum out of a washcloth and some emboidery floss. I don't remember if it was any good (I doubt it could've been; I was about 6), but I loved it.

Tonight's Special: TV show. I liked the mouse.

Other favourite books from childhood that I still love: Heidi (Mom read it to me the first time, in installments over a summer; I've read it more time then I can count myself), Wizard of Oz (the whole series), Beautiful Joe (the first and last chapters still make me cry), All Things Great and Small and all the James Herriot books, and so many more, I'm sure.

I know I'm forgetting so many. I love it when someone mentions some fond memory from their childhood and it reminds me how much I also loved that toy/TV show/movie, etc.

As I was reading tareija's post on artsy pretension in relation to Fight Club, the following came to mind:

Sometimes my brain reminds me of one of those "artsy" movies... the ones with fancy shots through fans and doorways, long periods without dialogue, where characters just sit and look at each other, and no mood-setting music. Think Monster's Ball and most Canadian dramas.

They remind me of my brain because they always seem like they are supposed to be full of bigger meanings, deep insights into the world and the poor miserable people who populate it. But even as you are watching the film, supposedly watching the creation of these insights, you have to wonder if the whole thing is really just self-indulgent, overblown, over-thought, and, in the end, meaningless.

And both my brain and the artsy movies seem to have a scary superficial resemblance to most perfume commercials.

I saw a movie on Monday called The Legend of the Weeping Camel. I got free preview passes from work, so Russ and I went. We won "Lonely Planet Guides" to Tibet and Mongolia while there, so that was cool.

It was one of those slow, sleepy movies where nothing seems to happen. An hour and a half of movie can be summed up by: A family depends on its camels. One of their camels rejects its calf and won't feed it. The family does a ritual, the camel cries and then feeds its baby.

The scenery was beautiful (shot in Mongolia), and there were some sweet and funny moments. And camels are strange looking creatures. But it didn't seem like much, while watching it.

But, strangely enough, I've been finding myself thinking about the movie once in a while ever since. It was sort of insidius, how it got in my head. I find myself smiling at a remembered scene, or day dreaming about the scenery. And thinking about camels...

I am going to bed now.