A couple of weeks ago, I was watching “Love, Actually” with Evan. Evan and I don’t see each other that often, so he still kind of buys my tough as nails image. And then there’s scene, where Andrew Lincoln shows up on Keira Knightly (his best friend’s wife) doorstep and tells her “To me, you are perfect, and my wasted heart will always love you.”
And, I get all teary eyed. Because he walks away, whispering to himself “Enough. Enough now.”
And then Emma Thompson calls her husband out on cheating on her and yells “you have made my life ridiculous,” and I lose it, because Emma Thompson is awesome and her voice is all raw, and then she has to pull it together to meet her kids. So, I cry. Again.
“You are such a sap,” Evan tells me. “Is this why you won’t watch movies with other people?”
I suppose I could try to blame my bout of mawkishness on PMS or my stress over my impending graduation, but by now, my friends and my readership have probably divined the truth about my outward thorniness: namely, that beneath my grouchy, cynical cloak beats a sentimental heart.
I may be a rational, resilient woman, capable of pulling myself out of a depression, slogging through collegiate misery and still graduating with honors, but when it comes to manipulative movies et al., I will cry at the drop of a hat.
Yes. I am a sap. I am not, however, an equal opportunity sap. I hate weddings, but I’ll choke up at a Seinfeld episode. “Where the Red Fern Grows” had little affect on me, but I sob every time I read the end of IT, by Stephen King.
Even though I’ve read Atlas Shrugged through a dozen times, and wrote an entire essay regarding this scene, I still get ridiculously upset when Hank Rearden goes to tell Dagny he loves her, and that he knows she’s found someone else, but that’s okay, because loving her will be enough (and my wasted heart will love you….). And speaking of Rand…“We the Living.” is the saddest book ever written. Irina and Sasha watching each other’s trains taking them to different prison camps. I was reading that book in Starbucks over Spring Break this year, and shaking, because I didn’t want to sob aloud. That entire book tore me apart. I wanted to re-read it this year because I was studying that historical period in my Russian class, but I absolutely could not read it. That is literally one of the most upsetting pieces I’ve read in my life.
The original proof that Rachel is not the stoic she likes to pretend she is:
Titanic: 4 Rachel: 0
I will say in my own defense, I couldn’t have cared less about “Leo” and I was 14 at the time. I did, however, cry at that scene where crazy Rose jumps off the life boat and back onto the ship because she doesn’t want to leave Jack, and he’s all like “You’re so stupid, why did you do that, you’re so stupid.” And she’s all “I couldn’t go, I couldn’t leave you Jack!” And then they play that Irish hymn and you see all the scenes of the people who aren’t going to make it onto the lifeboats, and there’s the couple on the bed who are holding each other, and obviously terrified, and the mother reading her children to sleep and fighting to keep the panic out of her voice as she waits to drown – well, it just about killed me
In movies, it’s almost always worse than books, because there’s the damn music to accompany the tear jerking parts. I don’t have a prayer of getting through touching vignettes without at least choking up. Like in Armageddon, when Bruce Willis shoves Ben Affleck back on to the space ship and sacrifices himself, and then they show the montage of all the people celebrating back on Earth, with awful music in the background.
(…yes. I cried at Armageddon)
I also have a thing cheesy sports films. I think I have way too good an understanding of what it’s like to be part of a team from decathlon, and really, sports isn’t that much different from decathlon! Mention that scene in “A League of Their Own”, where Dottie drops the ball, and there’s a good chance I’ll leave the room. I can’t stand the end of that movie. I sit there, and anticipate it, and worry about it, and then I have to turn the TV off for the entire World Series. I got all weepy watching “Miracle” when the coach is like “Who do you play for” and they’re all like “the United States” and then they kick some commie ass. Ah, team camaraderie. Rousseau would totally approve. Oh, and Angels in the Outfeild gets to me too.
Somehow, my true hysteria is reserved for very sappy romantic comedies. I have this deal at Hollywood video where I pay $9.99 a month and can rent as many movies with the blue stickers as I want. This means, I have been able to indulge my secret like of pseudo romantic comedies and Mandy Moore movies. I love Mandy Moore. I totally felt for her in the scene in “Chasing Liberty”, where her date ditches her, and she whispers under her breath the line she had been practicing while getting ready: “Of course you can kiss me.” Oh, and “Saved”? Throw in a teen pregnancy plot and I’m guaranteed to bawl. And of course, the British had to go and make a movie out of “I Capture the Castle” a book I adore, not so much for the plot but for the narrator. The movie was disappointing, but the last two scenes killed me. I completely understood what Cassandra was going through with Simon, and it was a perfect portrayal of the “follow the leader” love-game. Poor Cassandra. Stupid Simon, you blind idiot.
But it doesn’t take that much, usually.
There are all the episodes of Dawson’s Creek that left me sobbing. The first episode. The last episode of the first season, where Joey comes to tell Dawson she’s totally in love with him, and Jen’s in his bed. I still can’t hear the song “I’ll Be” without thinking about that scene. When Pacey breaks up with Joey at prom. And, of course, the finale. I hadn’t watched the show in two years at that point, but come on people; I’m not made of stone. Jen died! Dawson acted like a semi-human being! Joey chose Pacey!
Then there’s the little story of the time I saw “Blood Brothers” in London. “Blood Brothers” IS a sad play. But you’re not supposed to cry until the end. But alas, the unwanted pregnancy theme Scene 3, Act I, and the tears started flowing. I was sitting next to Jimmy K, who just kept rolling his eyes and passing me tissues.
Oh god. And I cry during “Pretty Woman” when she’s taking the limo home, and he’s standing on his balcony doing the clichéd romance movie “thinking about the girl he just let go” and “It Must Have Been Love” is playing in the background.
And I can’t help it, ok? I hang out with a bunch of cynics, but I’m a sap. But you know what, I don’t care! Cynics are just failed idealists anyway and just because I cry at the end of “Homeward Bound” does not mean I can’t be a tough as nails bitch when the situation calls for it. My emotional reactions towards movies are pretty indicitive of who I am as a person. I can be the sweetest, most supportive person you know, but I’m apt to throw an ashtray if you push me too far. Just ask Jon. I can handle whatever real life throws at me. Crying at sappy romantic comedies is cathartic.
