It was my favorite kind of date night. My Gentleman Friend asked me if I wanted to go out to see a movie, A Man Called Otto. It was Sunday night, which made going out feel a little rebellious. We were going to squeeze just a little bit more “us time” out of the weekend.
Plans for dinner beforehand were quickly abandoned, in favor of having popcorn for dinner. Popcorn and a beer, since our local movie house now sells cans of beer placed subtly on the side of the concessions area. To my delight, one of the kids working the concession stand was a recent former student of my Gentleman Friend, making it necessary for him to lean over the counter and order his and my beer in a low voice: “Uh, I’d like to buy some … drinks.” The sight of my grown husband sheepishly asking a former student if he could buy a beer amused me to no end. The two icy cold cans were cracked open and handed to us with a nod in a quiet, conspiratorial manner. We balanced them with our popcorn, careful not to spill.
Even though we subscribe to many, many streaming services and enjoy watching movies and shows from the comfort of our home, I absolutely love going to the movie theater. My first big screen memory was Disney’s Snow White. That Wicked Queen was terrifying, mostly because her mean face was as tall as a building.
Soon after, I remember sitting in a packed movie house, watching E.T. along with dozens of others who were expectantly eating Reese’s Pieces and impatiently waiting for the coming attractions to be over so the main attraction could begin. E.T. went from being just an odd-looking, wrinkly puppet to a lovable friend with a heart, capable of feeling not only an attachment to Elliot, but also yearned for his home. It was the first time I felt that kind of transformative experience in a movie theater. Watching TV on our black and white Zenith TV, with the sounds of my brothers arguing in the background just didn’t pack the same punch. Feeling a story like I did that day watching E.T., feeling the moving music vibrate through the floor felt very different. I was hooked.
I’m afraid that soon, movie theaters will be a relic of the past. The last few times I’ve seen a movie, the huge theater was practically empty. The auditorium seats that used to pack people in, elbow to elbow, have been replaced by soft, wide, cushy recliner chairs. Now you can put your feet up, warm or cool your seat, even adjust your headrest. All while keeping your beverage of choice conveniently nestled in the nearby cupholder.
A Man Called Otto has a lot of things going for it. It’s based on the bestselling book by Swedish author Frederik Backman, A Man Called Ove. I loved the book so much that I convinced my husband to read it a while back. He loved it, too.
The story centers around the main character, Ove (Americanized to “Otto” for the film version), who has recently retired, lost his wife to cancer, and is no longer interested in living. He has a reputation for being the neighborhood curmudgeon, and his rough, easily angered exterior only thinly disguises his soft, sensitive interior, which is charmingly revealed through interactions with his neighbors, strangers at a train station, and a feral cat.
I cried at this movie. Not only at the end, which is, frankly, a foregone conclusion with me. I cried at the beginning. Okay, and a couple times in the middle. By the end, I was working hard not to yell out “Why??” as I mopped my flannel sleeve across my tear-stained cheeks. My Gentleman Friend quietly sniffled in the seat beside me. The story is that good, and Tom Hanks in the lead role makes it even better. (Sidenote: Tom Hanks is a national treasure. You can’t tell me otherwise.)
A few of those tears shed that day were for that near-empty movie theater. I hope we fall back in love with movies on the big screen. Hopefully we abandon our couches every so often and fill those theaters. When else can we sit among strangers and laugh, or shriek, or cry and eat popcorn together?
