Let's talk about bad movie choices.
Over the years, I've made quite a few. And like films themselves, the reasons they were bad choices don't necessarily have much to do with the movies. It's just that we come in contact with the medium in many different ways, and on occasion, for me, that contact was very much like a train wreck.
Now I mention this because of the passing of Olivia Newton-John. Yes, I know: I'm writing about recently deceased people two weeks in a row. I mean, lots of people start the day reading the obituaries to see if they're listed, and if not, they have breakfast. But dwelling on passings, timely or untimely, is sort of morose. Like a Woody Allen film. With which I have had several unpleasant contacts. But I may be getting ahead of myself.
The reason Newton-John's unfortunate death triggered my remembrance of bad film experiences past is that, among her other accomplishments, she starred in the movie musical "Grease." By all accounts, or at least the accounts of people whose opinions seem to matter, she did a wonderful job.
For me, however, the challenge with "Grease" was that it came along when I was a teenager, and part of a friend group that included about an equal number of girls and boys. Yes, at that age we were still very much girls and boys, not at all like the cast members playing high schoolers in the film in question, who were, in some cases, pushing 30 when it was made.
So, the dynamic at the time was this: We didn't have that many theater options and films changed, it seemed, seasonally, so they lingered with us for a while. The girls liked "Grease." We liked the girls. Therefore, we got to watch "Grease" more than those films they subject people to while they're trying to brainwash them. Which, as I understand it, doesn't really happen, except in the movies.
It didn't help that the soundtrack was weapons-grade earworm stuff, so even those of us who had grown to hate the film with the white-hot passion of a thousand suns found "I've got chills, they're multiplying ..." rocketing around in our heads, and hating ourselves and everyone else for it.
Of course, "Grease" wasn't the only example of my bad movie choices (though, in truth, that one was never, ever under any circumstances my choice). I once took a New Year's Eve date to see "Looking for Mr. Goodbar." For those not familiar with the film, it's about a woman who has a series of meaningless one-night stands, only to be murdered by the last one. Yep, that evening turned out about the way you'd figure.
I took another date to see the film "Nightwing," which came along at about that unfortunate time in cinema history when producers looked at the success of "Jaws" and said, "If people will watch films about killer sharks, lions, tigers and bears, surely they'll watch a movie about killer bats in the American Southwest."
I have no idea why they thought that was a good idea. I also have no idea why I thought that was a good idea. The date later confided to me that as a result of the evening she had reoccurring nightmares. I'm going to assume they were because of the movie.
Recently I have been told I should watch "Top Gun: Maverick" which follows closely (by 36 years) on the heels of "Top Gun," one of the iconic films of my youth. The sequel still stars Tom Cruise, who, at least from an age standpoint, is a contemporary of mine but is still, at least in the film, flying fighter jets.
And while I assume from a military standpoint that's possible, I'm wondering if whatever mission against the "unnamed but we all know who they are, wink, wink" foe allows time for him to pull over and stretch his legs after they've fallen asleep or go to the bathroom every hour. Maybe too much realism isn't necessarily a good thing.
The thing now, of course, is that while I've obviously demonstrated my inability to pick a good film for the whole family (or even the Lovely Mrs. Smith. She still mentions "True Grit" really wasn't a good Christmas Day movie choice), that level of decision-making has been wrested from me and handed to our grandchildren. Which means I've seen "Encanto" almost as many times as I've seen "Grease."
At least now my chills aren't multiplying, but now, thanks to the song from "Encanto," I'm not talking about Bruno ...