I don’t cry easily.
Maybe I’m jaded, I don’t know. Maybe it is something about not liking to be manipulated emotionally. I tend to dig in my heels and NOT cry for the simple fact that someone is expecting it. Oh, I’m perfectly capable of turning on the water works to get my way – yes, I’m not proud of it, but I’d be lying if I didn’t fess up to a little emotional manipulation a time or two in my misbegotten past. Perhaps it is for this very reason that I tend to steel up when I feel the urge to tear up overtaking me.
Go ahead… name your favourite tear jerker: The Notebook? Sorry, no tears.
Beaches? Zip. Zilch. Can’t squeeze one out. Barbara Hershey looked pretty healthy to me, plus she made some pretty poor relationship choices. It’s hard to respect that.
Titanic? Oh, please. “Jack! I won’t let go….” Then she LETS GO. Leonardo DiCaprio sinks to the bottom of the Atlantic… Nope. No can do. Let him sink. The digital breath trying to convince us y’all were freezing in that Hollywood pond just was not convincing enough.
(It is remotely possible that I am a wee bit too critical of films.)
But stand a few dozen 5-year-olds up on a stage and have them sing Cyndi Lauper’s “True Colours” while using sign language?
FLOODS OF TEARS. A complete and total wreck, inconsolable.
And that one Tim Burton film… Big Fish. Also Edward Scissorhands. Oh – and Les Miserables…. and True Grit (2011, not 1969).
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