Everybody has his own special way of remembering days past. Just about every girl I’ve ever known has a photo album or scrapbook full of pictures from prom, spring break or that one time they got totally drunk off of Malibu and assorted wine coolers.
Not that picture collecting is an exclusively feminine pastime, but guys tend to keep mementos in the form of things shiny and dangerous or something conveniently able to fit into a shoebox. Aside from my high school trip to southern Spain (from which I only brought home a giant sword and broken Kodak), I usually lean towards the latter. My life can pretty much be told through my collection of movie ticket stubs and DVDs.
I can’t quite remember what I was doing when OJ made a break for it in the Bronco, but I do know that half of my club soccer team and I snuck into a screening of “Species” soon thereafter. My first time going solo behind the wheel was driving a Windstar’s worth of high-school hooligans to the opening night of “Boogie Nights.”
Steve Martin’s antics in “The Jerk” chirped in the background of my first kiss. I lost the newly-released video tape of “Batman” and several baby teeth in a Christmas-day football match when I was a kid; then, several years later, I lost something else in my dorm room after a viewing of “North by Northwest” (let’s just say I’ve still got a thing for Hitchcockian heroines).
Sept. 11 is still kind of a blur to me, but I can guarantee you that I was in a film class when I heard the news.
Movies have been, are and forever will be an inextricable part of my life, and I’ve got a box full of ticket stubs and a head chock-full of movie quotes to prove it. They’ve been babysitter, third brother and surrogate parent to me. They’ve given me comfort food, food for thought and, well, Dots, Raisinets and lots and lots of popcorn. Most importantly, though, they’ve given me escape.
Yeah, yeah, being a communication arts major, I’ve had to give the whole “film is an art” spiel to countless numbers of my boneheaded friends. But let’s face it: Since the days of talkies through the umpteenth “American Pie” sequel, movies have essentially always been meant for pure, unbridled escape from the monotony and, most importantly, hardships of life.
I keep so many movie mementos because I can always look back on whatever event they evoke and smile. I don’t have a snapshot of any of the lazy days of the summer before my freshman year of high school, just Samuel L. Jackson’s “Ezekiel 25:17” monologue stored in my head. And I don’t remember all of the fun little activities I’ve shared with my family on our vacations over the years, just that we would always jokingly refer to ourselves as “the Griswolds” and our car as “the family truckster.”
That is the power of a movie. It not only allows your problems to fall away for the two hours you’re watching it, but also has the ability to become so closely attached to you that you can’t help but attach it to the peaks and valleys of your emotional timeline. It’s also why they so desperately deserve to be remembered.
Today, we are all faced with the remembrance of what was undoubtedly the most horrifying national event of our generation. I understand that another long-winded editorial on how to cope with 9/11 is the last thing anyone wants to read right now, so I offer only this: See a movie.
Blow off whatever class, meeting or homework you have tonight. Grab your significant other by the waist or your best friend by the hand, and head to the video store or theater.
See a movie. Laugh, cry, fall in love or make love. Feel anyway you want to, but don’t feel angry, guilty or ashamed. Escape for two hours.
See a movie. Store a poignant or funny quote in the back of your mind. Save the ticket stub or receipt or whatever you can stash away in your shoebox, just to remind yourself of that brief period of time when you couldn’t help but be happy.
You might even end up starting a new collection.
