While I was in Iowa for a few days over Christmas, I went to see The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch & the Wardrobe with my mother and youngest sister.
Being the clever city dweller, I bought the tickets online at Fandango, because it guarantees a seat, and it lets you bypass the line of people waiting to buy tickets. Sure, it's a dollar extra per ticket, but convenience is often worth more than that.
In Chicago, when you get a ticket with Fandango, you print out a confirmation page and give it to the ticket-taker. S/he then gives you tickets and you enter the theatre. No waiting involved. No standing in long lines.
In Cedar Rapids, when you get a ticket with Fandango, you print out a confirmation page and then stand in line with all of the people that are waiting to buy tickets then and there, to let the person in the ticketing booth give you your tickets, so that you may then give the tickets to the ticket-taker. Which means lots of waiting. Lots of standing in long lines.
I felt robbed of the three dollars, honestly. Avoid Fandango outside a metropolitan area.
So, I ended up sitting between a man of about my age, clearly there by himself, and my sister. Mom was on the far side. Before the movie started, I got a tissue from my mother, because I forgot to bring some, and I knew that I would end up crying at some point.
Of course, when Lucy and Susan crept along after Aslan left the camp early in the morning before the big battle, and then were asked to join him as they went for an early morning walk, and then after a while were told that he had to go the rest of the way alone, and then watched in horror from a distance as Aslan was bound and beaten, shaved, and then slain by the witch Jadis, I sobbed and snuffled and cried like a girl.
When the little mice chewed the cords from his body, and Lucy and Susan were sobbing and crying over his abused corpse, I cried.
And when Aslan's body disappeared, and then he appeared with the morning light radiant behind him, quite alive and well, I cried.
Neither my mother or my sister cried, and my sister said that she didn't cry because she knew what was going to happen, and she knew that Aslan wasn't really dead anyway.
The reason that I was crying was two-fold: Poor Susan and Lucy -- they're school girls one minute, queens then next, and then innocent witnesses to a slaughter. I was crying first for Lucy and Susan, because they thought they were just going for a walk with Aslan, and had no idea what was going to happen, even if I did, and then I was crying because they thought that Aslan was dead and gone, and had no idea that he was going to be miraculously resurrected by Deeper Magic. I anticipated what was going to happen, and then empathized with the characters.
I also cried because it was so very well done, and was very emotionally moving. It played out on the screen even more tragically than it played out in my head as I was reading it. And because I have a soul and warm blood actually runs through my veins, apparently unlike my frosty and heartless women kin.
And I wasn't alone in my emotion, either. There were upset small children, all throughout the theatre, and I also will tell you, the man to my right was clearly snuffling during the sad bits. Because he also apparently is an empathizer. And maybe because he didn't know what was going to happen, and was shocked into quiet tears of sorrow, and then barely audible snuffles of relief.
Brutality, death and miraculous resurrection, and then a frightening battle is a bit much for small children, in my book. I'm surprised more children weren't crying from fright.
Being the clever city dweller, I bought the tickets online at Fandango, because it guarantees a seat, and it lets you bypass the line of people waiting to buy tickets. Sure, it's a dollar extra per ticket, but convenience is often worth more than that.
In Chicago, when you get a ticket with Fandango, you print out a confirmation page and give it to the ticket-taker. S/he then gives you tickets and you enter the theatre. No waiting involved. No standing in long lines.
In Cedar Rapids, when you get a ticket with Fandango, you print out a confirmation page and then stand in line with all of the people that are waiting to buy tickets then and there, to let the person in the ticketing booth give you your tickets, so that you may then give the tickets to the ticket-taker. Which means lots of waiting. Lots of standing in long lines.
I felt robbed of the three dollars, honestly. Avoid Fandango outside a metropolitan area.
So, I ended up sitting between a man of about my age, clearly there by himself, and my sister. Mom was on the far side. Before the movie started, I got a tissue from my mother, because I forgot to bring some, and I knew that I would end up crying at some point.
Of course, when Lucy and Susan crept along after Aslan left the camp early in the morning before the big battle, and then were asked to join him as they went for an early morning walk, and then after a while were told that he had to go the rest of the way alone, and then watched in horror from a distance as Aslan was bound and beaten, shaved, and then slain by the witch Jadis, I sobbed and snuffled and cried like a girl.
When the little mice chewed the cords from his body, and Lucy and Susan were sobbing and crying over his abused corpse, I cried.
And when Aslan's body disappeared, and then he appeared with the morning light radiant behind him, quite alive and well, I cried.
Neither my mother or my sister cried, and my sister said that she didn't cry because she knew what was going to happen, and she knew that Aslan wasn't really dead anyway.
The reason that I was crying was two-fold: Poor Susan and Lucy -- they're school girls one minute, queens then next, and then innocent witnesses to a slaughter. I was crying first for Lucy and Susan, because they thought they were just going for a walk with Aslan, and had no idea what was going to happen, even if I did, and then I was crying because they thought that Aslan was dead and gone, and had no idea that he was going to be miraculously resurrected by Deeper Magic. I anticipated what was going to happen, and then empathized with the characters.
I also cried because it was so very well done, and was very emotionally moving. It played out on the screen even more tragically than it played out in my head as I was reading it. And because I have a soul and warm blood actually runs through my veins, apparently unlike my frosty and heartless women kin.
And I wasn't alone in my emotion, either. There were upset small children, all throughout the theatre, and I also will tell you, the man to my right was clearly snuffling during the sad bits. Because he also apparently is an empathizer. And maybe because he didn't know what was going to happen, and was shocked into quiet tears of sorrow, and then barely audible snuffles of relief.
Brutality, death and miraculous resurrection, and then a frightening battle is a bit much for small children, in my book. I'm surprised more children weren't crying from fright.
1 comment:
I cried too -- both times I saw it.
In, pretty much, the same spot.
(But only manly crying)
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