The year I turned 40, I began a self study, tracking events, behaviors, and occurrences for 365 days. This experiment inspired Project 40 – my life in numbers and stories.
You wouldn’t think I’m a movie lover – a natural critic, someone who’s taken screenwriting courses and pumped out a couple of romantic comedy scripts, at least not based on my theater-going habits during my 41st year. Three times. I went to the movies just three times during my 41st year, and two of the films watched were animated. Yet, I’m a self-proclaimed buff. In late February, I ignore wifely and motherly duties to weep my way through the Oscars, moved by the speeches of actors whose performances I won’t see until months later when their films make their way to DVD, to HBO; and perhaps not until the film gets to TBS, with commercials peppered in every 12 minutes and the raunchy sex scenes artlessly chopped out.
But I did see a number of movies over the year. I found I’m an avid re-watcher of movies, an activity I enjoy doing at home. An activity I did 80 times over my 41st year. Some of these re-watched movies are classics; others being terrible, awful movies that had no business being made – except to give a lowlife like me something to keep my eyes occupied while I sip on wine in bed.
A few of these flicks I can recite nearly word for word, including my most watched movie of Year 41, Coming to America, which I viewed five times during the year; a movie I first saw at the Stockton Royal movie theater (now a coffee shop) in 1988. I will always remember seeing Coming To America because I did so by myself, stood up for the very first time in life by some idiot I can’t remember (but he had to have been an idiot – I mean, missing Coming to America?) But I laughed the whole way through, despite being noticeably jilted (I met another guy there that night who perhaps wasn’t quite my type but, by asking for my number, helped a sister leave the theater with a little dignity). A year later, when I was a senior in high school, after the movie had been pressed onto VHS, ostensibly having played and rewound it numerous times as only children must do, I made for great entertainment for jocks and other cool kid groupings at parties with them quizzing me on lines from the movie. “What does Eddie Murphy say when the elephant runs past him?” someone would ask. I’d take a sip from my 32-oz bottle of California Cooler and, using my best Akeem voice, say, “Hello, Babar.”
Also popular on my small screen during Year 41 were The Hangover, The Descendants, and The Devil Wears Prada. And Saved the Last Dance, Trading Places, and Forrest Gump. These are my comfort movies. The DVDs that stay in the player; the DVR recordings that are never erased. Comfort movies make for great accompaniments for rainy days, for wine, for greasy food, for stressful weeks. The characters in these movies have become part of me. If I ever see Eddie Murphy in person, I’ll likely lose my mind, thrilled to have in front of me Billy Ray Valentine (Capricorn), Marcus Graham, Axel Foley, and Prince Akeem in one.