No, not me. The movie. I didn’t see it when it was out in the theaters. Honestly it takes a hell of a lot to convince either Rob or I to actually expend the effort and waste the time to sit in a movie theater. Perhaps if he liked people more and I enjoyed sitting still for someone else’s story-telling. The only time I can sit still is when I am writing or reading. Otherwise, my mind is too full to entertain someone else’s ideas.
But BabyDaughter and I have been making fairly regular stops at the library in town since I discovered (after nearly a year) that I can use the county library card I have there too, and I saw the dvd and I thought it was worth a movie night.
Yes, I can watch movies at home without too much wandering of attention but it’s not a given. Plus I have the added incentive of my viewing pleasure being enhanced by the ability to curl up next to my husband in bed while we watch. You can’t snuggle horizontally in a movie theater, I don’t care how great the seats are – stadium seating and snuggling just don’t mix.
Knocked Up, if I remember correctly, got quite the rap for being another one of those films that glamorized the idea of pregnancy and keeping the baby as opposed to having an abortion, I guess. Personally, I don’t see either option as glamorous in the least, but I understand the vexation. The movie does make it seem that pregnancy can create a relationship where none existed or ultimately strengthen ties between two people. Frankly, a baby should never be saddled with that kind of baggage or responsibility. More people should disregard the notion of getting together or staying together for the sake of children, born or in the making. The movie was more than a bit fairy tale in that respect.
For me the movie brought back memories of being pregnant with BabyDaughter, mostly because it was mid- way through the pregnancy that her dad began to show signs of mental instability. Just one in a long list of early warning signs of his illness that we missed. I don’t have many fond memories of pregnancy, birth or the first year. It was overshadowed by odd and/or scary behavior that had me on the verge of walking out by the time the doctors agreed that “yes, there does appear to be something physically wrong with your husband”.
Some of the movie annoyed me too. There is a scene – several really – of the female character being “hormonal” and I complained to Rob that I hated movies that went all stereo-type like that about pregnant women. Hormonal does not mean “out of control bitch” and I insisted that I was never like that. But there were tense and even ugly moments when my late husband would do things that seemed so far out of character that I wondered who the hell I had married and perhaps I’d made a huge mistake. I don’t think my reactions were overly influenced by hormones though. I think most sane women would have been upset regardless.
Hindsight is a miserable and useless thing.
Perhaps another reason why I dislike movies (and television even moreso) is that it strives to entertain me with things that are not entertainment. Trauma. Disease. Death. Heartbreak.
Considering the fullness of my life and my ability to keep myself quite occupied within its framework, I guess it is no wonder I am not much in need of what Hollywood seems to feel I need to vicariously experience more of.
