The Movies, Jimmy, and Me
Recently, I saw a devastatingly phenomenal film, All of Us Strangers. It was powerful for me on so many levels. The lead character, the story, the backstory, the trajectory, the journey….Everything about it touched me so deeply. It reached all of my most vulnerable places and has taken up residence in my mind, heart, and soul.
The thing that was the most challenging about the entire experience was that I didn’t have Jimmy to watch this with me. Although he was definitely sitting next to me, in Spirit, I really needed him to talk through things after the lights came back on.
My Jimmy and I shared a Passion for film that I have not found with any other human being. Since he’s moved on— eleven years this May— there has been a vacuum in that role in my life. One that I cannot imagine ever filling.
The range of films that we loved was extensive. Comedies (although, not the silly ones), dramas (we especially loved those), characters that face challenges that we could relate to (broken hearts, mental illness, impossible choices), anything with a story that would connect with us in some randomly deep way. Our choices were pretty difficult to predict.
Our connection over Frances, and the depth of heartbreak we both felt at the end when Sam Shepard’s character, Harry York, reconnects with the newly-lobotomized Frances Farmer. His memory of her fire and his deep aching love for her coming face-to-face with her vacant, innocent smile. It’s such a tender and crushing scene. For Sam’s character, right alongside with us. We felt that scene….to our cores.
And then there’s The Poseidon Adventure.
New Year’s Eve has been the most difficult night for me since I was young. Jimmy changed all of that by creating our tradition of watching The Poseidon Adventure together on that historically arduous night. Cheering for Shelley (“Swim, Shelley! Swim!”), screaming along with Ernest Borgnine and Gene Hackman, celebrating the pure awesomeness of Stella Stevens, dancing with Pamela Sue Martin, and giggling until we couldn’t breathe at Red Buttons’ epic moment, “God Bless Mrs. Rosen.” (No, it’s not a funny moment! What’s hilarious about it is found in the timing and delivery!).
I still watch it every New Year’s Eve. It used to be a really sad time for me. In the past few years, though, I have felt Jimmy join me for the traditional watching of this epic film. I can hear his giggle and it makes me smile.
There are so many more movies that connect me with Jimmy, that are part of our story. Last Temptation of Christ, The Crow, Jacob’s Ladder, Rush….So many….
More than just the passion that we shared about them, though, is this piece that makes his absence so much more unbearable: Jimmy and I shared a profound understanding of how we approached and experienced a movie. It was with reverent appreciation and an all-encompassing immersion.
More importantly, we related to one another so deeply about the stories and what those stories meant for us and our lives. The characters weren’t removed from us. They were part of us, close to us. In some cases, they actually became us.
We didn’t just watch a movie and say, “Well, that was good. Ok, where do you want to get something to eat?” No. We would stay in the theatre all the way through the credits. Silently (we both had a no-noise-no-talking-no-disruption policy when watching movies. Well, except for one. Keep reading!).
Once the film reel had reached the official end, and the ushers came in to start cleaning, that was when we would start talking. We would spend hours dissecting, examining, exploring, almost embodying the film. Every detail, moment, feeling.
It was our world.
I can illustrate our passion for movies with a couple of my favourite memories.
For a time, Jimmy was the manager of a multiplex theatre. There were ten screens, most of which were full-sized, with one smaller one at the very end of one side of the building. We used to call that the “screening” theatre, as if it was our private place to watch the movies we loved.
When The Fisher King came out, Jimmy knew that this film would be an emotionally harrowing one for me to watch, for so many reasons. I was still recovering from my time on a psych unit, being treated— and mis-treated— for depression. I was involved with someone who would never understand or love me. And I was searching for my purpose in life. Basically, Jimmy knew that every character in this film would be relatable for me, in some intense and painful ways.
So, he had me come down to the theatre to see it. He moved the film from a larger screen to our “private screening room,” got me all set up in there, and then proceeded to tell any other patrons that the film was broken, and that they were waiting for a new print of it. He encouraged them to see something else.
He made it so that I could be on my own in the theatre. And, whenever possible, he came in and sat with me. When the film ended, he joined me to sit, talk, cry, and process together.
Another time, at another theatre, he wanted me to see the film, Magnolia (the one with Jason Robards, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Julianne Moore, and an astounding ensemble cast). Jimmy had already seen it and knew that it was imperative that I see it.
He sat one row behind me, one seat over, so that he could watch me watching the movie. Making sure that I was alright. And, again, he sat with me for close to forty minutes after the credits rolled as I sobbed and tried to talk about what the movie had brought out in me.
This is the level of understanding I’m talking about.
We also had some funny and strange movie moments.
We both were fascinated by the films of David Lynch. They were uncomfortable and always stimulating to all of our senses. We went to an art-house showing of the movie, Lost Highway, and were both sufficiently freaked out by it! I mean, that scene where Robert Blake tells Bill Pullman to call him, at Bill’s own home and, when he does, Robert Blake answers the phone….Totally creepy!
Well, a few months later, a different theatre was showing Lost Highway again and we actually said to each other, “Maybe it wasn’t that bad. Maybe we were just being weird. Let’s go! It can’t be that creepy.”
Guess what? It was WORSE!! And, between being even more freaked out by it— and embarrassed at our own over-confident folly— we laughed so hard that we were able to shake off the weirdness of it!
Even today, when I think I might want to watch it again, just to test our theory, I don’t. Jimmy’s not here to watch it with me. It just won’t be the same.
Our mutual affection— let’s face it, we were in love— with Alan Rickman led us to some tearful, frightening, and hilarious moments.
Let’s start with hilarious. Of course, his performance in Galaxy Quest was one of our favourites. Such a departure for him and he seemed to be having so much fun.
The other hilarious incident had less to do with him than with the terrible movie he was in as a supporting player. The premise of the movie, Close My Eyes, is that a brother and sister fall into an unhealthy and obsessive intimate relationship with one another. And it ends badly.
Alan played the husband of the sister and, although he was his resplendent self, even he wasn’t valiant enough to save this one.
Jimmy and I could not stop ourselves from giggling in the theatre— which we would NEVER normally do!— at the ridiculousness of this film. It was over-played, over-wrought, and over-the-top. All of the actors are talented (Clive Owen is amazing). It’s just the way it was written. Like a watered-down Harlequin romance. Between siblings.
That movie became a long-running joke for us. Although, we would watch that one again, just to watch Alan Rickman doing his perfect thing.
In the terrifying category comes Closetland. Jimmy and I loved this movie for a few reasons. One, Alan is impressively multi-dimensional in it, it’s hard to dislike him, even as we witness his character doing terrible things. His character seems like a broken person who is making horrific choices from some strange sense of ensnared loyalty.
We also loved this one because it comes across as if it could be a stage play. We even went so far as to get the screenplay, with the vision that we might be able to perform it together in some small, black-box theatre. We thought a lot about doing that. I truly wish we had.
It was also a film that showed us a darker side to Alan Rickman. A dangerous side. And, more importantly, a broken side. He did a good deal of other work in the years since Jimmy’s been gone, work that I know Jimmy would have loved. Snow Cake, for sure.
And then there was our absolute favourite performance of Alan. That would be in Truly Madly Deeply. We went to the theatre to see that one when it was first released, and then re-released at that same local art-house cinema. We would cry together and commiserate on how, if it was us, we would have stayed with our dead lover forever (especially if it was Alan Rickman).
We both wrestled with the fact that— spoiler alert— Nina moves on with Mark so quickly after she and Jamie realize that it won’t work (mostly because of all of his dead friends hanging out in her apartment).
That last shot of the film, with Jamie watching Nina go off into her new life, kissing Mark at the gate, knowing that he made that happen because he had to help her move on…. His gentle, heart-aching smile…. And the support of his dead buddies…. Jimmy and I would surrender to the tears and support one another in our own grief, as if we were right there in the story.
There’s a moment in Truly Madly Deeply, as Nina is beginning to realize that she had just begun to live again, independently, after Jamie’s death. That she had just started learning how to come into her own. And yet, at the same time, she still missed his so very much.
She looks at him and says, “I longed for you….I longed for you.” And Jamie— with the gentlest expression— feels that.
This is what I felt, sitting in the movie theatre, as the credits rolled for All of Us Strangers.
I longed for Jimmy. I needed him there. I needed him to talk about this film with me. To share how it found all of my vulnerabilities and exposed them to the light. How it reached some of my most secret places, the ones that I don’t share with anyone, and showed them to me, with excruciating clarity.
There are important things I need to talk with Jimmy about regarding this movie and he’s not here. He’s simply not here. Not physically.
Of course, like with New Year’s Eve, I can feel him near me. And I do talk to him. I truly did feel him sitting next to me in the theatre as I watched this movie.
It isn’t the same, though. It never will be.
I long for him.
What I know to be true about myself is that I will watch this shatteringly beautiful film again. I might even go back to see it in the theatre, while its still there. And it will still hurt, I will still cry, I will still wish that Jimmy was here with me to talk about it.
And I will still feel the absence of him. The irreplaceable-ness of him.
Thank you, Jimmy. For the gift of these memories. For the echo of your giggle. For the times we shared. For the wonderful moments in dark theatres and living room couches, exploring the worlds we ventured into through the screen.
For being with me, whenever I need you. Always. Forever.
“I’ll protect you from the hooded claw
Keep the vampires from your door
When the chips are down I’ll be around
With my undying, death-defying love for you.”
— “The Power of Love”
