A Meander About Ickiness

Sometimes you have to be in the mood for a certain type film.

Last night I was flipping through the channel guide on Dish Network, trying to find something on which to rest my mind, when I came across the synopsis for a film called Johnny Got His Gun on AMC or TCM or one of those networks that I like to eat my dinner to because they slow me down. It was made back in 1971, and starred Timothy Bottoms, who I really liked in that same year's The Last Picture Show. I was thinking of settling on it, but then I read what the film was actually about: Bottoms plays a WWI vet with no arms...or legs...or face! The guy's got no face!Well, I would have watched it, but then I decided I really didn't want to kill myself so close to the weekend. I mean, seriously. What a downer!

Truthfully, though, that was the type of film I would have been very interested in seeing when I was in high school. I was moody then. I'm still moody, but my moodiness avoids anything too dark in favor of self-preservation. There are certain films these days, great films, I just can't sit through anymore: Schindler's List, The Pianist - basically, anything about the Holocaust; anything excessively violent - I will never see SAW; and also out, anything involving gay-bashing - Boys Don't Cry? Well, this boy did and he'll never watch it again.

I've become a film wimp! When did this happen? I avoid confrontation on film or TV for the most part. I cringe when certain words are thrown about, or there's violence for no reason other than to show some self-aware director's knack for blood ballet. I don't recall being that disturbed by violence when I was younger. Of course, maybe that's because I never really watched films like that. Maybe I was too sheltered. Then again, CNN shows real-life horrors worse than anything Wes Craven could dream up.

Books are different. I can take it in books. I guess it's the seeing of the hate that bothers me. I don't want to see the bloodletting take form. I'd rather read it on a safe white page and let my mind sweep up the carnage. Oh, bother. I'm too precious for this world. Poor, poor precious me.