When life's pressures begin to build, it helps to have a release valve.
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Some folks exercise. Some drive. Some clean. Some scream and break dishes. Me? I like to sit alone in a movie theater.
Stick me in a soundproof cave, throw a few pictures up on the wall, let me laugh out loud, shout at the actors, whimper like a child and not care — that does the trick.
My trip to the movie theater last week was directly preceded by the death of my grandmother. Grandma's passing was hardly unexpected, as her health had been declining for more than a year. In the end, her death was a kindness. But being prepared for the eventuality of a loved one's death doesn't diminish the need to mark the day and reflect on the end of a valuable life.
As a husband and father of two young boys, it's hard to find time to eat a proper meal, let alone grieve in peace. Still, when I settled in for some alone time Wednesday at the 10 p.m. showing of
"Up," I hadn't intended it to be some grand cathartic experience.
Anyone who loves film can appreciate the continually evolving genius of
Pixar, and I've been devoting myself to the company's animated productions since "Monsters, Inc." in 2001. I didn't go there to grieve; "Up" was simply the next movie on my list.
Per the norm for a midweek, late-night showing of what is widely perceived to be a children's film, I had the whole of Regal Manor Cinema's theater No. 11 to myself and took full advantage of the attendant freedom to react to the film without restraint. Those reactions, given the emotional depth of this uncommonly tender tale, ran the gamut and included some welcome, if unexpected, grieving.
From the first, "Up" presents itself as anything but children's fare. The opening sequence is a flashback montage of the lives of Carl and Ellie Fredricksen, who meet as children with a shared passion for adventure, grow to love each other, marry and grow old together. What distinguishes their love affair, and this movie in general, is the acceptance of failures and disappointments along the way.
In the same montage, we learn Ellie miscarried, leaving the couple childless. We also see their shared, lifelong dream — a trip to the tropical Paradise Falls in Venezuela — dissolve in a wave of unexpected expenses. When, as an older man, Carl finally books their passage to South America, Ellie falls ill and dies before they can make the trip.
"Up" rejoins Carl at age 78 as he's being forced into a retirement home by a developer who wants to purchase his property and raze his house. Rather than surrender his home, Carl, a retired balloon salesman, attaches thousands of helium-filled balloons to his house and lifts off on a pilgrimage to Paradise Falls.
Tucked under his arm as he embarks on his journey is Ellie's scrapbook, titled "My Adventure Book," which she filled throughout her life with keepsakes and plans for elaborate excursions. Upon her death, she bequeathed the book to Carl, with an inscription bidding him to begin a new adventure.
That's the part that got me thinking about Grandma.
I don't know if Grandma is headed for a new adventure in death. I doubt it, but ultimately I don't know.
What I do know is that if she had compiled the adventure book of her own life, the binding would have split at the seams. There would have been plane ticket stubs taped beside washed-out Polaroids of family and friends, grease-stained recipes filling the folds, children's drawings scribbled in the margins and bits of yarn and embroidery thread marking the special pages.
The most we can ask of this brief life is that it be full of love and experiences, and hers was. Grandma's adventure book was full.
Michael Long welcomes e-mail at mlong@lnpnews.com.
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