You will cry your heart out. Your life will change. Forever.
Pretty drastic things to say about an hour and a half movie, but I think we have all seen movies that this was the case.
You get all comfy cozy on your couch. Got some good snacks and a box of Kleenex to keep you company. Then you are watching the movie and to put it bluntly, it just isn't sad.
For some reason when the dad dies you are too worried thinking about what you are going to make for dinner.
When the boyfriend breaks up with her you are too busy have a texting war with your friend about who can find the best Buzzfeed.
Or you are legitimately watching the movie. Focused and concentrated. You are waiting for some climax or pivotal really sad point but it just isn't there.
You realize it is about to end but you don't want to be that heartless person who just doesn't cry. It's like when a puppy gets hit by a car even if you are absolutely petrified of puppies (represent) you have to shed a tear or else you will immediately lose ten friends accusing you of having no soul. So same goes with sad movies.
Anyhoo, the movie is about to end and with every fiber of your being, every ounce of strength within you, you need to push out a tear. And a little sniffle for extra credit.
Your goal isn't to enjoy the last five minutes of the movie, but rather to find something remotely heart wrenching. For example someone steps on the grass and all of a sudden your entire night revolves around forcing yourself to think stepping on grass is cry worthy. You know the poor piece of grass that has been stepped on and is gone forever.
Boo hoo.
Have you betrayed the movie or has the movie betrayed you?
Well last night I think I betrayed the movie.
Last night I finally got around to watch The Breakfast Club. I have wanted to see it forever.
I have a theory about myself.
If you know me well you will know when I say I have a theory that is code for "hide yo kids, hide yo wife" Lottie is about to bore us with some really ridiculous, bizarre, long, and rather conceited theory.
So for all of you survivors who don't run away at the word "theory", g-d bless you and prepare to be enlightened.
I think I was meant to be born in the 80's. Or actually mid to late 70's so then I can really appreciate the 80's.
It is my favorite decade. The fashion. The colors. The music. THE HAIR (believe me, when my hair gets brushed it just screams 80's- big, frizzy and poofy is an understatement.)
You know to be one of the Breakfast Club kids.
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| It may just be me, but I think there is too much empty space in this picture. How about.... |
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| ...They add a sixth cluber. I do believe I fit right in (or in some drag queen competition). (Disclaimer: This picture was taken a few years ago and is just being used to prove a point. I hope you never need to see this ever again. Apologies.) |
Anyways, back to the point.
I'm watching the movie and I have heard already from numerous sources that it is a sad movie. Even the main character from Pitch Perfect who had no heart or soul cried from this movie.
So you know the drill. Grab the tissues. Take off my makeup before the movie so I don't look like some zombie from all the tears that are about to roll down my cheeks. And I am ready for this tear jerker.
The movie is playing and I mean it really is a good movie, I totally recommend it and it's pretty thought provoking actually, but I have no urge to cry. Zero.
I'm a pretty emotional person, so when I don't have the urge to cry no one should be. (fun fact: you know that new Dove commercial with the forensics artist and the women had to describe how they see themselves etc. Yup cried all ten times I watched it.)
Ya, so no tears. I realized towards the end of the movie that it will be over in the next ten minutes so if I want to cry it's gotta be now.
I was able to force out a few tears and sniffles, but no full on cry.
I felt like I insulted humanity.
There I was watching this almost 30 year old movie and nothing.
It's official, I am the girl with no heart.
I did not find the Breakfast Club sad.
Sue me. I totally deserve it.
I have never been more ashamed.
I was trying to justify my lack of waterworks with two options
1) I was too busy channeling my inner 80's to truly appreciate the plot. I was too busy marveling at their hair and outfits and wishing and praying someone could just invent a time machine already
2) I was furiously emailing my parents asking why I couldn't be born just ten years earlier. No biggie. I would totally be willing to go to some high school's playgroup for their students who had babies if that meant I could get a taste of this fabulous decade.
Imagine writing born January 26, 1982 instead of January 26, 1992... I think I would be a happier person.
I am a crime doer.
I am a sinner.
I have defiled and defamed.
I did not cry in The Breakfast Club.
Don't you forget about me.
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