Recently I was laying in bed watching a movie, when I realized that I was crying. Not just a little, either; the kind you can be all macho about and throw off as just your eyes watering. No, I had real emotional tears running down my cheeks. And I'm not ashamed.
The movie was "The Color Purple." It was right at the end, when Celie's sister Nettie and Celie's two children show up at her house. As Whoopi Goldberg ran thru that field and threw herself into her sister's arms for the first time in thirty years, I started to cry. Couldn't help it. I also realized that I have cried a little every time I have watched that scene. Steven Spielberg managed to make me feel the way that Celie must have felt at that moment; the sudden rush of joy and love that finally cleared the last cloud out of the sky of her long and suffering life. That, my friends, is what a good director does, and why he is one of the best.
As I lay there wiping my cheeks, I dug around in my memory and counted the number of times I've cried since my great grandmother died when I was seven (The last time I had a truly hard cry. The kind where someone has to hold you or you'll fall down.) and found only a few. More suprising is that they've all been at movies.
Braveheart. That fucking movie runs my emotions thru the wringer from one high to another. It's almost the perfect movie. It has a great story, a truly moving love story, amazing fight sequences and one of the most heart wrenching endings ever. If you can somehow manage to watch the torture scene at the end and not at least mist up when he shouts "Freedom" with his last breath, then you have no soul. If only Mel had stopped with that movie, he'd have capped off the perfect career. Oh well, the rich can afford to be crazy.
The other movie (Or, rather, mini-series) that has made me cry is "Band of Brothers." Another piece of work from Mr. Spielberg. Not directed by him, but he had his hand deep in it.
The scene that gets to me is in one of the last episodes; when they find the concentration camp . The crew did such an incredible job re-creating what one of those camps looked like that you can almost smell the foul air as you watch it. The actors who played the prisoners managed to make me believe that they'd actually been thru what the characters they were playing had. The whole thing makes me weep because it thrusts into your face just how horrible and fucking evil a creature man can be. It shines a light deep into the dark heart inside all of us, and makes you take a hard, cold look at yourself and wonder what it would take to make you act that way.
I don't know what it says about me that I can only be brought to tears by cinema. I didn't cry on 9/11. I didn't even get angry, like so many guys did; using their anger to cover up their fear and sadness. I just kind of went emotionally dead for a day or two. Maybe I can only get emotionally involved in movies because that is what I grew up with. I was taught how to be a man by Indiana Jones and Han Solo. They didn't cry. John McClane wouldn't cry. Hell, even Ripley didn't bawl, and she's a chick (kinda). I don't know. Maybe I'm just getting older, and losing my walls. Whatever. There are worse things to cry about.
One more thing. I may have just spilled out all this confessional mumbo jumbo about crying and my emotions, but I am not ashamed. Go ahead and make fun of me. Call me a pussy or fag. I am secure in my manhood and happy with myself. Besides, I'll beat the shit out of you.... with my dick.
Later,
A!
The movie was "The Color Purple." It was right at the end, when Celie's sister Nettie and Celie's two children show up at her house. As Whoopi Goldberg ran thru that field and threw herself into her sister's arms for the first time in thirty years, I started to cry. Couldn't help it. I also realized that I have cried a little every time I have watched that scene. Steven Spielberg managed to make me feel the way that Celie must have felt at that moment; the sudden rush of joy and love that finally cleared the last cloud out of the sky of her long and suffering life. That, my friends, is what a good director does, and why he is one of the best.
As I lay there wiping my cheeks, I dug around in my memory and counted the number of times I've cried since my great grandmother died when I was seven (The last time I had a truly hard cry. The kind where someone has to hold you or you'll fall down.) and found only a few. More suprising is that they've all been at movies.
Braveheart. That fucking movie runs my emotions thru the wringer from one high to another. It's almost the perfect movie. It has a great story, a truly moving love story, amazing fight sequences and one of the most heart wrenching endings ever. If you can somehow manage to watch the torture scene at the end and not at least mist up when he shouts "Freedom" with his last breath, then you have no soul. If only Mel had stopped with that movie, he'd have capped off the perfect career. Oh well, the rich can afford to be crazy.
The other movie (Or, rather, mini-series) that has made me cry is "Band of Brothers." Another piece of work from Mr. Spielberg. Not directed by him, but he had his hand deep in it.
The scene that gets to me is in one of the last episodes; when they find the concentration camp . The crew did such an incredible job re-creating what one of those camps looked like that you can almost smell the foul air as you watch it. The actors who played the prisoners managed to make me believe that they'd actually been thru what the characters they were playing had. The whole thing makes me weep because it thrusts into your face just how horrible and fucking evil a creature man can be. It shines a light deep into the dark heart inside all of us, and makes you take a hard, cold look at yourself and wonder what it would take to make you act that way.
I don't know what it says about me that I can only be brought to tears by cinema. I didn't cry on 9/11. I didn't even get angry, like so many guys did; using their anger to cover up their fear and sadness. I just kind of went emotionally dead for a day or two. Maybe I can only get emotionally involved in movies because that is what I grew up with. I was taught how to be a man by Indiana Jones and Han Solo. They didn't cry. John McClane wouldn't cry. Hell, even Ripley didn't bawl, and she's a chick (kinda). I don't know. Maybe I'm just getting older, and losing my walls. Whatever. There are worse things to cry about.
One more thing. I may have just spilled out all this confessional mumbo jumbo about crying and my emotions, but I am not ashamed. Go ahead and make fun of me. Call me a pussy or fag. I am secure in my manhood and happy with myself. Besides, I'll beat the shit out of you.... with my dick.
Later,
A!