Rob Taylor: Beware the Gateway Movie, a.k.a. Lump-in-the-Throaters
If Guys Could Talk
Grand County, Colorado
For many hardcore movie buffs, “The Wizard of Oz” tops the list of all-time cinematic blockbusters. Others give “Gone with the Wind” the nod.
Not me. My favorite blockbuster for two decades was Star Wars (which I saw at the age of ). Was, I say, until recently.
Now, at the dawn of middle age, I find myself cozying up to “lump-in-the-throaters.”
Note to readers: these are not Chick flicks – a la “Titanic” or “The Notebook.” Lump-in-the-throaters do not require Kleenex, just a manly cough to hide bombshell emotions that emerge from thin air … or good Hollywood script writing.
My short list of lump-in-the-throaters:
1. Forrest Gump. The whole movie. If this doesn’t elicit a healthy lump, the viewer, regardless of gender, deserves an Oscar for sucking it up or has lost touch with humanity.
2. Rudy. Last five minutes. No doubt, many of you remember Jimmy Dugan (Tom Hanks) say in “A League of Their Own”: “There’s no crying in baseball.” Football, however, is not baseball. Football is a passion – eliciting blood, sweat and in the case of “Rudy,” severe lumps that cause the eyes to water.
3. Radio. A combination of movies 1 and 2. No wonder the last 3 minutes get lumpy.
4. Shawshank Redemption. Choking up over prison life? Thanks to Morgan Freeman, it could happen to you – especially when, at the movie’s end, while riding the bus, he said, “I guess, I just missed my friend.”
5. Rocky I and Rocky II. Who wouldn’t get choked up after seeing a grown man bludgeon another, then publically gush over the love of his life?
One problem with lump-in-the-throaters: I now fear that they are gateway movies to the Dark Side … to watching chick flicks. Recently, I, myself crossed that line.
My excuse is beyond reproach. As a writer, my field of study is other author’s works.
So, I frequently find myself reading “the classics.” Having just polished off Jane Austen’s (her character development is second to none) “Sense and Sensibility,” I popped in the movie. During the last five minutes, when Edward proposes to Elinor, the lump inexplicably migrated north, blurred my vision and squeezed a tear out of nowhere. After a brief paralysis, I regained my senses, grabbed a Kleenex and wiped.
Before it got completely out of hand (and anyone noticed), I rushed to the kitchen grabbed a cutting board, knife and mutilated an onion.
But that wasn’t the worst of it. I tried to tell myself that I didn’t enjoy the experience – that I did not want to see the film ever again. But after looking myself in the mirror, I realized that I could not trod the soil living the lie. I, Rob Taylor, president, founder and CEO of “If Guys Could Talk,” relished every minute of “Sense and Sensibility,” though
it was a torturous delight (and just between you and me, Emma Thompson should have won an Oscar for that performance).
There. I said it. Gulp. What next? Misting up over a grocery store Hallmark card? Watching “Steel Magnolias?” Gasp. Somebody just shoot me now.
If this is a taste of what’s to come, middle age is going to be a train wreck. I don’t want to know what’s around the next corner … especially if the Wizard suddenly grants me courage and a brain to go along with my newfound heart. For now, the urge to pop some corn, bust out the Jujyfruits and watch the latest “Pride and Prejudice” on DVD is – suddenly – the indoor elephant that is wearing down my manly scruples.
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