Wednesday, October 10, 2007

I’ll Be The Dude Cowering in Fear Over in the Corner, Thanks

I have fairly pedestrian taste in movies and books. Like many a self-respecting geek, I veer sharply toward science fiction, with a fair amount of fantasy tossed in for good measure. Nerd City over here, baby.

Go on, ask me how many times I’ve read The Hobbit. If you said, “Lots” or “More than a socially acceptable number,” you’d be quite correct. I’ve even read it in Italian, but that was a long time ago when I was actually perfectly fluent in Italian and not just a walking dictionary of Italian swear words. Really. Seems like I can only remember the nasty bits from that most beautiful and musical of languages. Che peccato! Sono proprio scemo.

Since I’m really just a poseur when it comes to literature and film and I don’t really enjoy heavy melodramas or any sort of movie that features people talking about their “feelings” or “emotions” and I really need whole bunches of robots with killer laser beams filling the screen to get down with a movie; sometimes Reha and I have a difficult time choosing movies to see together. She doesn’t see any value in seeing Fletch (again, or ever, frankly), finds it totally dumb that Ghostbusters is on anyone’s Top Ten Movies of the Century list and finds it positively moronic that I can still quote the entire Cinderella Story scene from Caddyshack from memory, often without provocation. We usually compromise, getting two movies, with her renting some foreign film with an unpronounceable title or a “Sofie’s Choice” weep-fest, I get bored and wander off or I have to excuse myself from the room to make sure no one has touched my Star Trek: The Next Generation action figure collection.

Note, I do not really own any action figures of any flavor. I’m not that kind of nerd, though you get my meaning.

Anyway, we compromise, which means, she rents what she wants, watches it, and if I’m in the same room, that’s great, but “oh well, your loss, bub,” if I lose interest because of something shiny in the next room and drift away. And I go see Die Hard 4 a the dollar movie all alone except for a ginormous box of smuggled Milk Duds and a $15 dollar vat of Diet Coke and a trough of popcorn. It’s a comfortable existence.

But the One Rule that can never be violated is this:

I refuse, simply will NOT stand for a scary movie to cross the threshold of our house and into my domain. I HATE scary movies. You show me even just the cover of any “Halloween” or “Friday the 13th” movie and I’m out the door with a whoosh and a small “eeeek” noise.

I know EXACTLY the point in my life when I became such a huge scaredy cat. The fall of 1981 when The Exorcist came on TV. Even in its watered-down 1980s version, I couldn’t sleep for years afterwards. There were demons and devils everywhere, just waiting to possess my immortal soul. To this day, I still can’t eat split-pea soup.

Honestly, I think it all has something to do with a sense of empathy. Even in an abysmal horror film (pick any Friday the 13th movie), my imagination puts me in the scene and I feel far too anxious about WHAT IS ABOUT TO HAPPEN. I internalize the scene and I get a monster case of the heebie-jeebies. I sometimes wonder if reading so much science fiction and seeing so many goofy movies has elevated my sense of suspending disbelief to a high art. I know it’s a bit silly, but when I see a scary or dramatic or thriller scene, my head truly believes what is happening is REAL, so I feel a tangible sense of physical anxiety and mental cringing.

Really, even when the main character is walking into a room and something evil is about to touch her shoulder from behind and the groaning music totally telegraphs the moment and everyone in the audience with a pulse and two brain cells to rub together knows precisely what is about to happen (someone’s about to jump out on her), I still feel that dread. Every. Time. And when the ax murder predictably pops out from behind her from the closet, I jump completely out of my skin, because even though I knew what was going to happen, my mind doesn’t let me be rational about that stuff. Which is not a nice sight, trust me. I look even worse without skin.

Some people (like my wife and oldest daughter), enjoy that topsy-turvy, pit of the stomach churning and charged feeling that comes with a “thriller” movie. Not me. I really hate that feeling. It reminds of getting in trouble as a boy. When I’d done something wrong and was waiting for the punishment to fall on my teeny head. That feeling of foreboding doom is not pleasant.

Reha: “Jon, it’s just a movie, jeez, get over it.”

Me: “Oh, yeah, well… you don’t like spicy foods, do you?”

R:”Not sure what that has to do with anything, but right, I don’t like spicy foods.”

M:”And why don’t you like spicy foods?”

R:”Because I don’t like foods that hurt me and I don’t willingly submit to being caused pain.”

M:”Right. And I submit right back at you that it is the EXACT same thing for me with scary and suspenseful movies. They cause me pain.”

R: “Whatever. You can come back into the room and stop hiding under that blanket under the stairs, the scary part is over.”

Odd thing, though? I love Halloween.

Not the scary stuff, though. Just the part about the candy. I can totally get behind any sort of “holiday” where kids go out into the night knocking on doors, dressed up in costumes and people are expected, nay, the social contract demands that they gives the little folks snack pack sized Milky Ways. I love that part.

But don’t be offended if I pass on the Halloween Movie Marathon.

Jon scribbled this mess on 10/10/07 at 08:44 AM, best we can tell it fits in the category of Regular Post. This many folks had something to say about that, The permanent home of this entry is here: Link

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