I finally figured it out, after two weeks of all-access HBO, Cinemax, and Starz. After encountering my husband’s confusion nearly every day for years. The final peg in the hole was this movie:
Went over to watch with the other married couple, and it was a lovely visit. They are lovely people. The movie would have been a gorgeous gorgeous gorgeous collection of stills (if it were a collection of stills). But I left feeling oh so disappointed, oh so blue, oh so downtrodden. And on the ride home, I got it. My husband wants to know why I can’t watch war movies (“I just can’t”) and my mother wants to know how I can stomach ridiculously graphic violence like Kill Bill (“I just can”). I have an answer for you. It’s a very simple answer.
I can’t handle tragedies.
Not everyone is going to be happy with this explanation, I realize, but it really is a very simple (and accurate) answer. Anything, I mean anything, can happen in a movie. As long as the good guys win (and at least one of them lives), I can watch and enjoy. If the film ends with the death of a good character, I should never watch it. EVER.
Now I’m off to watch Monsters, Inc and wait for Hubs to come home and talk me down. Shake it off, Little Rae, shake it off.