Lights, Camera, Action!

Allow me to introduce myself: my name is Johna...and I am a Netflix Junkie. My first clue that I just might be developing a...dependency...came when I found myself sprinting to the mailbox (okay, it's only about 25 feet, so I probably...stroll briskly) to retrieve my latest DVD in its bright red envelope. I then eagerly rip it open (obediently following instructions to tear along the pre-perforated lines) to reveal the movie I've chosen, one that will hopefully provide me a few hours of escapist entertainment. After the kids are safely tucked in bed on these Movie Nights, I curl up on the couch for the duration, ignoring all chores and other obligations (We're out of milk? It'll wait until tomorrow! Hey, I fed everyone and supervised Homework Time, that counts for something!)

Having grown up in the 70s, I have to believe that at least part of the allure of the mail-order-film-thing is how different it is from my childhood experience. First of all, my Mom and Dad were possibly the last people on the planet to concede to buying on of those newfangled VCR-thingamabobs. Then once we (at long last) owned one, we had to travel to a Video Shop (for us, a 10-15 minute drive, depending on whether we could be satisfied with the miniscule selection but cheaper prices of the local family-run outfit, or wanted to go a little further for the vast choices and higher cost of the Mega-Store one town over). Then we perused the shelves, peering around other customers camped in front of the New Releases section, hoping the most current flick had at least one copy available. Once we made a decision, we waited in line (practically around the block, on a Friday or Saturday night) for the honor of taking the videotape home to watch. Of course, when we were done, we got the pleasure of driving back to the store to return the tape. If it turned out to be a good show, and we had enjoyed a nice family viewing time, this process might have felt like five dollars well-spent. But if we had chosen a dud, it seemed irritating beyond belief.

So you can see why I get a little giddy over the fact that I pay approximately ten bucks a month to pick and watch as many movies as I want, right? Which incidentally leads me to my second confession: because it feels so cost-efficient and affordable, and because the logistics are so very easy (walk to mailbox! repeat!) I take absolutely no responsibility to ensure that I'm making a quality selection. I'll take a shot on just about anything. (Of course this open-minded policy has led to some real turkeys...Hot Tub Time Machine, for example. Alas, John Cusack, I never dreamed you could disappoint me so! There may have been no monetary penalty, but I want my two hours back!) And if I determine in the first half-hour or so that it absolutely stinks...or I just don't like it, I feel no guilt whatsoever in clicking that Off Button (defiantly--take that, bad movie!), shoving it back in that cleverly-designed, pre-paid package, and whisking it straight back to the warehouse. Then I make up for it with a mindless, super-fun flick like Iron Man 2 (who knew Robert Downey Jr. as a comic book character would be so awesome?) Send me my next risk-free option, please!

I must say, though, that my devil-may-care attitude has also prompted me to tiptoe down some cinematic paths I would have previously avoided like the plague. Such as...Oscar Nominees. I always figured those were too highbrow and challenging for someone who resides happily in the "Light and Fluffy" realm of movie viewing. But I checked out The King's Speech, and what do you know, it lived up to the hype! (also: Colin Firth. Enough said.) Another potentially dangerous category: documentaries. I've sat through some visual stunners (Under the Sea), some heartwarming narratives (Born Free) and some...nausea-inducing-but-educational lessons (Food, Inc.). Finally, in the past two weeks I have--through no conscious plan--ended up with not one, but TWO separate movies based on true stories with varyingly tragic endings. In the first (127 Hours) a man treks out into a gorgeous-but-desolate area to hike...alone...without telling anyone where he's going... gets pinned to a rock wall in a narrow crevice due to a freak accident...and must hack off his own arm with a dull penknife in order to escape and survive. Believe it or not, it was compelling, except that it was difficult for me not to yell at the TV the entire time "WHY didn't you call your mother before you left? Idiot!" In the second (Into the Wild), a brilliant, quirky, recent-college-graduate abandons his life of wealth and privilege to wander the Earth--searching his soul, seeking a meaningful existence, and communing with Nature. He finally realizes his dream of reaching Alaska, where he sets up an isolated camp and pursues a simple life. It's all extremely inspirational and moving and fascinating...right up until he mistakes one nutritious, edible wild plant for a poisonous, deadly one...and dies a prolonged, excruciating, horrible death. Jeez Louise! I think it's safe to say I am D-O-N-E with real-life dramas--that end in death or dismemberment.

Whew, I feel better for getting all that off my chest. And I guess as far as vices go, Excessive Movie Viewing--even with a penchant for Bad Films--ranks pretty low on the "must-seek-intervention" scale. Hey, the weekend's coming...maybe I'll check and see if The A-Team is out on DVD yet! (Bradley Cooper. Enough said!)