I’ve always cried over sad movies. I can’t count the number of times I’ve been too embarrassed to show my mascara-streaked face in the theater lobby after watching a real tear-jerker. I also can’t count the number of times my husband has relentlessly teased me about it.
For some reason, he and my mother always have had a knack for finding the humor in sad movies and spoiling them for me. In fact, there have been plenty of times when they have caused me to want to slide underneath my theater seat and hide.
For example, back when I was a kid, my mom took me to see the Disney classic, “Old Yeller.” It was a movie about a beloved dog that ended up saving the life of the boy he belonged to and then dying of rabies at the end of the movie (the dog, not the boy). The name “Yeller” referred to the boy’s slang pronunciation of the yellow color of the dog.
Well, my mother suddenly started to laugh in the middle of the movie. As heads turned toward us and eyes glared at us, I asked my mother why on earth she was laughing. She explained that the lead actress (Dorothy McGuire) had such yellow teeth, she’d thought that SHE was Old Yeller, not the dog!
Then there was the time I took my mother to see the movie, “Romeo and Juliet,” the incredible Franco Zeffirelli version. I’d already seen it once and had been so touched by it, I wanted my mother to experience the same intense emotion I’d felt.
My mother was fine until the scene in the square where Juliet’s nurse, wearing a huge, puffy skirt, came looking for Romeo. The guys in the square began to taunt the nurse, making faces at her and dancing in a circle around her. Then one of the guys, Mercutio, lifted a corner of the nurse’s skirt, stuck his head underneath it and came out holding his nose and gasping.
That did it. My mother dissolved into fits of laughter. She laughed through the wedding scene. She laughed through the death scene. She laughed all the way out to the car after the movie had ended. And to this day, whenever I mention the movie to her, she still bursts out laughing.
I’m pretty sure we made a lot of enemies in the movie theater that day.
When my husband and I were dating, I convinced him to take me to see “Love Story” at the Rex Theater in Manchester because I had read the novel and was eager to see it brought to life on the big screen. About 15 minutes into the movie, I could tell from his sighing and eye rolling that he probably would rather have been sitting in a Laundromat and washing his socks.
He managed to endure the film, however, until Jenny (Ali MacGraw) said to Oliver (Ryan O'Neal), who were the romantic leading characters in the movie, "Love means never having to say you’re sorry.”
My husband could remain silent no longer. He burst out laughing and said, “Give me a break! That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard!”
A few other men in the theater laughed in response.
I was embarrassed, but thankfully my husband remained quiet for the remainder of the movie...until the death scene. It was supposed to be romantic and touching, a real Kleenex moment as Jenny took her last breath...with an emotional conversation with Oliver beforehand.
A few other men in the theater laughed in response.
I was embarrassed, but thankfully my husband remained quiet for the remainder of the movie...until the death scene. It was supposed to be romantic and touching, a real Kleenex moment as Jenny took her last breath...with an emotional conversation with Oliver beforehand.
My husband groaned in frustration...a bit too loudly.
“Shhhhh!” I said. “This is the sad part! She’s going to die!”
“If we’re lucky,” he said, “he’ll put a pillow over her face and help her speed things along!”
Again, men's laughter could be heard around us.
“If we’re lucky,” he said, “he’ll put a pillow over her face and help her speed things along!”
Again, men's laughter could be heard around us.
Finally, to my relief, the movie ended. When the theater's lights popped on and I saw the faces of several women glaring in our direction, I was forced to hide my own face behind a box of popcorn as we made a hasty exit.
After that, every time I cried during a movie, like “Wuthering Heights” and “The Way We Were,” my husband mercilessly teased me. And when I sobbed over “The Champ,” he called me a marshmallow, even though I thought I detected him swallowing an apparent lump in his throat more than once during the film.
But then came the day when Hugh Beaumont, the actor who played one of the world’s most popular dads on TV (Ward Cleaver on "Leave it to Beaver") passed away.
"Leave it to Beaver" always had been my husband’s favorite TV show. He'd watched all of the original episodes when he was a kid and then all of the reruns (about 10 times each) when he was an adult.
When my husband came home from work that night, I casually mentioned that Hugh Beaumont had died.
His face immediately paled, and to my shock, he burst into tears. “Noooo! Not Ward Cleaver! It can’t be!”
He spent the rest of the evening crying and reminiscing about poor "Ward." I honestly never had seen him so emotional about anything. The man practically needed a sedative.
The next morning, my husband clearly looked sheepish. “Gee, I don’t know what got into me last night,” he said, shrugging. “I mean, after all, Ward Cleaver was just a TV character.”
Ever since then, he hasn’t teased me when I’ve cried during sad movies.
Could it be because maturity finally has softened him and made him more empathetic?
Nah. It’s because he’s afraid I’ll tell all of his buddies about the Ward Cleaver incident.
After that, every time I cried during a movie, like “Wuthering Heights” and “The Way We Were,” my husband mercilessly teased me. And when I sobbed over “The Champ,” he called me a marshmallow, even though I thought I detected him swallowing an apparent lump in his throat more than once during the film.
But then came the day when Hugh Beaumont, the actor who played one of the world’s most popular dads on TV (Ward Cleaver on "Leave it to Beaver") passed away.
"Leave it to Beaver" always had been my husband’s favorite TV show. He'd watched all of the original episodes when he was a kid and then all of the reruns (about 10 times each) when he was an adult.
When my husband came home from work that night, I casually mentioned that Hugh Beaumont had died.
His face immediately paled, and to my shock, he burst into tears. “Noooo! Not Ward Cleaver! It can’t be!”
He spent the rest of the evening crying and reminiscing about poor "Ward." I honestly never had seen him so emotional about anything. The man practically needed a sedative.
The next morning, my husband clearly looked sheepish. “Gee, I don’t know what got into me last night,” he said, shrugging. “I mean, after all, Ward Cleaver was just a TV character.”
Ever since then, he hasn’t teased me when I’ve cried during sad movies.
Could it be because maturity finally has softened him and made him more empathetic?
Nah. It’s because he’s afraid I’ll tell all of his buddies about the Ward Cleaver incident.
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Sally
Breslin is an award-winning humor columnist and the author of “There’s a Tick
in my Underwear!” “Heed the Predictor," Inside the Blue Cube" and “The Common-Sense Approach to Dream
Interpretation." Contact her at: sillysally@att.net.
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