Husband feels it’s time for ‘The Talk’ — again
Every now and then my husband finds it necessary to have “The Talk.” I never know when or where it’s going to happen — we can be strolling through a grocery store, trotting the dogs down a rocky path or eating oatmeal at the breakfast island — but it always unfolds exactly the same way. He shoots me a half-compassionate, half-pitying, glance, then says, “If you just could just understand one thing about movies, you wouldn’t have so much trouble following them.”
“The Talk” happens when my husband reaches the end of his patience, and what makes him reach the end of his patience is when, during or after watching a movie, I say, “I have no idea what just happened.” Or I say, “I don’t have a clue what this movie is about.” Or, “I don’t know who any of these people are.” I have lots of other standard movie-watching lines (“Is that the same guy we just saw?” “Are they speaking English?” “Is that a baby or a very small adult?”). Sometimes I intersperse these lines with wandering off to a different part of the house midreel, or with falling asleep, but the message is always the same: I have a hard time following movies.
It’s odd that I have such a hard time with movies, because I’ve mastered lots of activities that are more intellectually demanding, like building my own art website, deciphering complex material in professional journals for articles I’m writing and (a special point of pride) learning to use a curling iron on my own hair. But ask me to follow the storyline in a movie (and not even a difficult movie, mind you — I’m not talking about “Donny Darko” or “The Matrix”)? I’d probably have more luck inventing physics.
My husband used to have theories about my cinema-specific confusion. Back when I was depressed, he suggested the problem was that I was too sad for entertainment. Back when I was anxious about my job, he said I was ruminating too much, i.e., I was so busy running a movie about work in my own head that I forgot to pay attention to the one I was supposed to be watching.
Sometimes he suggested the problem was random, non-mentalhealth-related inattention. For example, the dogs ask to go outside, and I follow them out and then forget to come back in. Or I suddenly remember I’ve filled my Walmart Instacart but haven’t scheduled a pickup time, and so I do that and next thing I know I’m cleaning out my email.
Most recently my husband has decided that the root of my problem is a fundamental lack of understanding about the way movies work. This is where “The Talk” comes in.
“There’s one simple but vital thing about movies that you need to understand,” he says, “and when you do, it will unlock the mystery of cinema.”
Wow. Who doesn’t want to be in possession of this vital piece of information that is the golden gateway to the mindexpanding, joy-rocking, soul-stirring world of moviegoing? I know I do.
“OK,” I say. “Lay it on me.”
I wish I could pass along the one vital piece of information, but in fact it’s quite vague. It has something to do with how moviemakers provide clues to the story they are telling, which they lay out in a purposeful manner, and how we must watch patiently and have faith that all will be revealed in time. In other words, when, for example, “Reservoir Dogs” opens onto a darkened street and then explodes into violence, I am not expected to know who the people are, the name of the town or why everyone is so darned angry. But not knowing right away makes me anxious. I feel like the movie has been going for 15 seconds and already I’m behind the curve. This is when I start asking questions.
“Who are these people? What’s happening? Where is the reservoir?”
“You’ll know when you need to know,” my husband assures me.
This sounds cryptic, like he knows the answers to these questions and he’s just not telling me. If this is the case, how did he figure it out so fast? And why won’t he tell me? Is it because he wants to “win” at understanding the movie? Why does he have to be so competitive about everything? Now I’m in a lathered panic. I’m way behind, he’s way ahead, and there’s no way I can possibly focus on the movie anymore.
This is generally when I remember the Instacart. By the time I’ve finished scheduling a pickup time and look back at the movie, new characters have been introduced and salient clues have accrued. It’s like eighth-grade World History class all over again.
“Who are those people?” I say. “What’s happening? This movie is so poorly done.”
At which time my husband will wave me off. And that will be that, until some day in the toonear future when he’ll try, once again, to explain to me how movies work. Until then, I’ll be upstairs, inventing physics.
Dana Shavin is the author of “Finding the World: Thoughts on Life, Love, Home and Dogs,” a collection of 21 years’ worth of her columns. Her work has also appeared in Oxford American, Garden and Gun, and Today.com. Email her at danaliseshavin@gmail.com, and follow her on Facebook at Dana Shavin Writes. More at Danashavin.com.