My friends have developed a policy when we go to movies: Never let Dan pick.
I have a long, solid reputation of picking movies that, although artistically astonishing, are so soul-crushingly morbid they bring the entire outing to a screeching halt. Spend a few hours with me at the movies, and I will make sure you want nothing more than to go home.
Occasionally I get the urge to broaden my horizons and explore new intellectual territory, and I convince my various cohorts to partake in events like screenings of independent films. But much like picking guys to ask out on dates, I have an uncanny knack for picking movies that will produce a miserable evening. It's best if I wait for other interested parties to ask me out; we have a perfectly nice time. And it's best if I let whoever I am with cast the final vote on what we see.
Case in point: My first date with a certain someone back in 1996, here in Miami, when I was on a certain TV show on MTV. In an effort to spend time with him but not be obligated to think of too many conversation topics, I thought going to a movie would be a relaxing way to break the ice. That way, with the added pressure of having cameras present, I'd be less likely to get nervous and do something stupid (and the cameras wouldn't come into the theater with us, so we'd be alone for a few hours at least). Hmm, what to see? Nicholas Cage was starring in a movie called "Leaving Las Vegas." I thought, I loved him in "Raising Arizona," and Arizona is in the desert just like Las Vegas...this sounds like fun.
In hindsight, I see how my logic was weak.
That movie was brilliant, but nonetheless miserable--a love story of two people who accept each other unconditionally...including the little detail of one of them has set out to drink himself to death. When the credits rolled, we sat there in stunned silence until the lights came on and the ushers started picking up trash. We stumbled out of the theater, blazing sun blasting our faces, as the cameras hoped to catch us skipping along together in first-date bliss. Not so much.
Then there was the afternoon I asked another beau of mine to go with me to "City of God," a Brazilian film about live in Rio de Jainero. What's not to love? Rio is gorgeous, Brazilian people are gorgeous....What resulted was a 3-hour massacre of people caught between rival gangs' warfare, as they fleed murder in their favelas as well as the corrupt police officers who helped perpetuate the system. And there wasn't a single scene with people at the beach! Afternoon: ruined. Went straight home and sat on the couch in the dark for the rest of the evening.
I had high hopes for "Never Let Me Go." The previous independent film I saw that featured Kiera Knightley, "Bend It Like Beckham," was both an engrossing, well-written story as well as just a charming comedy; I thought, Here she is again, this is sure to be good. I thought it would be the perfect choice for my first date with a gentleman who seemed like the type who would enjoy chatting about a smart, thought-provoking film. Did I read the plot description? "...a group of unsuspecting boarding-school students who make a horrifying discovery about themselves." Kiera Knightley is adorable, how horrifying could it be? Very horrifying. Walking out of a theater after seeing "Never Let Me Go"--a film about people who are bred to be organ donors (whee!)--probably feels like the sensation of standing up after an encounter with a dementor. You need to go eat some chocolate to replenish your ability to feel happiness ever again.
So last week I asked my friend to accompany me to "Melancholia," a film about the end of the world. I should pause here to admit, yes, I did read that part of the plot description, and I understood what it meant. But it stars Kirsten Dunst! She couldn't be in a sad movie if her life depended on it. Ha ha, joke's on me, she's actually good in this one. And yes, the world does come to an end. It happens very, very slowly. I should mention: this film had about the same amount of dialogue as "Castaway," except at least Tom Hanks talked to his pet volleyball once in a while. "Melancholia" is mostly comprised of scene after scene of people sitting, thinking sad thoughts. You can tell they are sad because they have sad expressions on their faces...as they just sit there, expressing sadness. My friend's response the next day: "I couldn't wait for it to end." Awesome, good pick Dan.
But I try, I really do. Now whenever I want to see a movie, I always preface the invitation with a disclaimer, "I don't know if this is going to be any good, but..." as if I am responsible if the movie is bad. Although I should say, these aren't "bad" movies, they just make you feel bad about yourself.
