Movied to tears

Why we can't discuss films without losing friends

Out There by Todd Pitock

When I was 20, I met a girl in Rome. We were standing by the Spanish Steps waiting for the American Express office to open. Like me, she was a visiting student, and she seemed quite pleasant. We went to a movie together. Unfortunately, she liked the movie and I didn't. Neither of us could forgive the other's bad taste, and the relationship quickly soured.

It has happened to me a few times since. I like to talk about movies, and despite the fact that I hate most of them, I keep going in the hope that this time it'll be an elevating experience. Almost invariably, though, I am incapable of suspending disbelief long enough.

Although I am a stingy critic, I'm not a film maven.

I couldn't tell you what a film noir is. I don't know one director from another, and unless an actor does something noteworthy, like get caught in the back seat of his car with a prostitute, it takes three or four films for me to remember him.

Movies are a sticky subject, and they can test the mettle of a relationship. They are to my generation what politics and religion were to previous ones. This is perhaps shallow and stupid, but also true. We take on movies as masks over our own identities, so disagreement becomes a very personal matter.

This is an actual conversation I overheard at a local café:

"What, you didn't like Babe?"

"The movie about the pig? It was cute."

"Cute? It was outstanding! It was one of the top five movies of the year!"

"Okay."

"What do you mean by `okay'? You didn't love all those characters? Didn't you see all the satire, the death motifs?"

"Death motifs? It was about a pig."

"Oh, you're a pig."

I've been down that road, I thought. As it happened, I liked Babe, and I didn't see who needed to be friends with anyone who didn't like it.

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In general, I confess that I may be somewhat out of step with the rest of the moviegoing public, which makes me more prone to movie disagreements. When the list of the 100 best films of all time came out, I hit the bottle -- of Pepto-Bismol. The charms of many classics are lost on me, and my opinion of Schindler's List, which made number nine but is number one on my personal list of most overrated films (simplistic, with inappropriate sexual melodrama bordering on the offensive), has cost me dearly.

There are actors, films, and critics I boycott. I give two thumbs down (and raise a middle finger) to Siskel and Ebert, though they help me decide at the video store because I avoid any selection whose cover contains one of their gushing endorsements. I cannot watch so-called epic films where stories are sacrificed for special effects (the trendiest being the Large Screen Effect, where the viewer feels like he's in the action), and I prefer the unpretentious Tom Hanks of Big to Tom-Hanks-the-artiste of the gumpishly ultraconservative Forrest Gump and the dreadfully politically correct Philadelphia.

Liam Neeson, the current All-Epic Actor, is on my banned list, as is Leonardo DiCaprio; even if Titanic really is everything its fans say it is, DiCaprio's truly great achievement is his PR machine. If a movie is nominated for too many Oscars, especially best film, I know I can safely avoid it because, almost as a rule, the honor has come to suggest mediocrity. I am proud never to have seen Titanic. I almost did, but my friend Jack suggested it should have been called Tedium. That, along with the "dialogue drops" in the Celine Dion theme song, was enough to convince me.

Plus, by not seeing it I could avoid the discomfiting feeling you get when a friend wholeheartedly recommends a movie and you wind up hating it. Such situations threaten the whole relationship because, basically, it's hard to respect someone who likes a movie you don't (or vice versa). It's as though they've pulled open the curtain of their minds and shown you bad furniture.

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Insightful discussions about movies are rare. People tend to speak in final judgments. They "liked it" or they didn't. They watch; they don't analyze. I used to think it was because people were chuckleheads. But I've come to realize it's about preserving their relationships and sparing one another some self-esteem. It's a matter of politeness.

Over time, I've learned to curb my critical tongue. I learned to do the thing that used to irritate me. "How did you like that movie?" someone asks. "Yeah," I reply, "I liked it." You don't want to be a social pariah, after all.

A few weeks ago, though, friends insisted we rent a film. I watched, twisting in my chair as if I were back in high-school geometry, until I couldn't take it anymore and went off to read the newspaper. Our friends had made the movie their Blockbuster night three times. My wife and I couldn't figure it out. And they've always seemed like such intelligent people. "Well, don't say anything," she said.

I promised I wouldn't, but somehow it came out. I got put on the spot. "What did you think?" my friend asked.

"It was okay."

"What do you mean `okay'?"

The dialogue had a familiar ring. I thought of the girl in Rome and the conversation in the café. And here I had to lay it on the line. What kind of a person am I, I thought, if I don't stand up for my movie convictions? "To be honest," I said. "I didn't like it very much."

As I listed my reasons, I could see a wound opening just beneath the surface of my friend's face, and I immediately tried to patch it up. "You want to come over for cigars Saturday night?"

"No thanks," he said. "I don't think so." Healing took a week of e-mails and concessions from both of us that each could see the other's point. But if we hadn't already been good friends for a number of years, the relationship would surely have perished under the strain.

Only a few other relationships have survived movie disagreements. My brother and I have come to blows, but we remain on speaking terms, and whenever he recommends a movie, I make a point of not seeing it. Otherwise we try to stick to safer subjects -- like politics and religion.

Todd Pitock's essays appear in Hemispheres, the Washington Post, Salon, and the Philadelphia Inquirer, among other publications. He has no friends.