While the states of North Carolina and Indiana are determining the Democratic candidate in the primaries tonight, I went out to the movies with my mom. Originally it was to be a movie only, which then expanded to movie and quick dinner, then when she found out that oysters were on the menu at Wheezie’s, well, we had a very nice meal which she quite generously paid for. (The tuna starter rocked, by the way, once you got past the salt. And the goat cheese salad was made to be shared–way too much for one person). Then we went to see The Bucket List.
Now, I know that this movie has been out for awhile. Neither of us had the opportunity to see it at that time. It is now playing at the second-run theater in town, and it was a fun, if a bit depressing, movie. Jack Nicholson is starting to show his age, but Morgan Freeman was, as always, superb.
Here’s the thing that gets me. This is not the first time that mom and I have seen a movie where the main character kicks the bucket (no pun intended). Some holiday flick with Diane Keaton, Luke Wilson, and Sarah Jessica Parker comes to mind (The Family Stone, maybe? I don’t remember for sure). And there have been a few others in between.
Now granted, I’m a sap anyways. Complete, self-admitted sap. But my mother has a freaky weird illness, you see, and was diagnosed as terminal with a year or so to go. That was seven years ago, and she’s been through more garbage than most people would ever believe that they can put up with. So seeing a movie like Family Stone (or whatever the title was) and The Bucket List gets me a bit freaked out, as I am sitting next to someone who isn’t exactly the picture of health at the time. As a result, my self-admitted sappy self turns into a self-loathing sappy mess when I get into the plot of the film.
Because, let’s be honest here, I don’t go to movies to think about what my own life means or what to do with my own life. I have enough of my own reality. I go to the movies to remove myself from all reality and suspend my own life for a few hours so that I can voyeuristic-ly live the life of a fictional character.
So while I enjoyed the dinner and the movie tonight, I could have done with a bit less of my own reality thrown in. I know how fortunate I am to not only have my mother living but doing as well as she is given the medical mystery/marvel that is her physical being, but sometimes I want to get away from that.
And, I suspect, she probably does too.