Life(?) of Trillian

My parents enjoyed movies. Classics, mostly, but they saw their share of not-go-great ones at the local theater. We lived in a really small town and if they didn't feel like driving 25 miles each way to see a better movie, whatever was playing at the local theater had to suffice. They had their favorite actors, writers and directors, and when one of their favorites had a new movie out, my parents got dressed up, went to dinner and made sure they arrived early to get tickets and good seats, even if it meant driving 25 miles each way.

Because my parents loved movies, and because we lived in a tiny town that didn't always offer the best the film industry had to offer, my parents seemed to feel duty-bound to instill us kids with an understanding of good cinema v. not-so-good cinema. They wanted us to understand there was a fantastic world of movies beyond our local theater.

I was the youngest, by a lot. My parents lost their built-in babysitters when my older siblings went to college. Undeterred, they took me with them on their movie nights. Consequently I saw a lot of movies kids my age didn't see. Unfortunately, I was not a kid during a golden age of cinema. A lot of the movies we saw were not exactly high art. But. The megaplex 25 miles away devoted one screen to classics. Disney and children's classics on weekend matinees, more grown-up classics for the evening shows. If that theater showed a film featuring one of their favorites, it was a given we were spending Saturday evening at the megaplex classic screen.

Initially, I was too young to realize other kids at school weren't seeing the same movies I was. But gradually it occurred to me I was usually the only person under the age of 40 in the theater. I soon realized it was better to keep my mouth shut at school about what movie I saw over the weekend. Yes. I was embarrassed that my parents were taking me to see what I thought were ancient movies.

But. I enjoyed most of the movies we saw, whether they were old classics, or new movies with older actors in them.

My parents would see anything with (among others) Gregory Peck, Paul Newman, Alec Guinness, Cary Grant, David Niven, Jimmy Stewart, as my dad called them, the Saint Peters: Peter Sellers and Peter O'Toole.

I like those guys, too. They seemed like the men in my life. My dad, my uncles, even my grandfather and some of his brothers and cousins. Good guys, guys who could convincingly deliver an intelligent, dramatic or humorous line while imparting a little hint of their own personality in the performance. The lines rang true and resonated because the actors were skilled, and because they were old school human beings. Some of those guys were long dead by the time I saw them on the big screen at the megaplex. The 25 mile ride home was spent with my parents reminiscing about other films featuring that actor and lamenting the loss with, "Shame. The world could use a new David Niven film."

Lawrence of Arabia, was, of course, a must-see classic. We even went to dinner at a fancier restaurant before the movie. My parents were giddy with anticipation. "You're going to love this one, Trill! It's not a typical war movie. Loyalty and friendships and endurance..." my mother interjecting, "..and, oh it's just a masterpiece of a story and so beautifully filmed and the music, my goodness the score will bring you to tears." They were right. They didn't overhype it. It's a good movie. (It was also the first movie I saw with an intermission.) A year or so later we saw The Lion in Winter, and that was that...my parents were right. Great story, fantastic acting, I will never regret seeing it on big screen, even if I was the only kid at my elementary school who knew who Peter O'Toole was and had seen Lawrence of Arabia and The Lion in Winter.

My parents were upset when Peter Sellers died. No tears were shed, but, they were both quiet for a few days and would shake their heads saying, "Such a shame. Too young. Like we lost a dear friend. No more Peter Sellers movies to look forward to..."

My dad always liked Paul Newman movies, and even though she denies it, I think, like millions of other women, my mother had a little thing for him. I like his salsa and salad dressing. Paul Newman died a few months after my dad died. I was still in shockgrief over my dad, which I think (hope) explains why the news of Paul Newman's death hit me hard. I was clinging to things my dad liked - for instance, if I saw a new book by an author he liked, I read it. If a movie came out with a theme or an actor he liked, I saw it. It was an odd mix of thinking I should read the books or watch the movies for my dad, and a sort of vicarious loyalty, supporting the authors and movies my dad would have supported...I dunno, I really can't explain, it just made me feel better to keep current with the things my dad enjoyed. I even watch some PGA tournaments and football games "for" my dad. There's a lot of psychology to all this, and most of it's trite or stupid or just, well, grief does funny things to you. But there was a lot of comfort in keeping current with my dad's favorite things. As long as his favorite authors were still writing books, I still had a piece of my dad that was current. He watched the first season plus a few episodes of The Tudors, primarily because he felt if Peter O'Toole was in it, it had merit, so I watched every episode "for" my dad after he died. When Paul Newman died and the reality that there would not be any new Paul Newman movies to watch "for" my dad, it felt like losing another piece of my dad. That feeling has subsided a bit. When Ray Bradbury died I had pangs of it again, but I no longer feel compelled to watch golf or football.

And then, without warning, blam! grief reaches up and slaps you across the face. "PETER O'TOOLE DEAD" in the breaking news update. Of course his health issues are notorious. Of course he's "getting on in years." Of course it's not a "shock." But. As much as I cherish the memories of seeing Lawrence of Arabia and The Lion in Winter with my parents on the megaplex classic screen, the death of another of my dad's favorites hit me hard. No more Peter O'Toole movies or docudramas to watch "for" my dad. Another piece of my dad is dead. Finite number of grains of sand and all that. But the more I think I understand "how" I grieve, the more I realize how stupid I am. It's a process, a very, very lengthy process.

My mother happened to call shortly after I heard the news. She had not heard. She went a little quiet when I said, "Did you hear Peter O'Toole died?" Silence. And then, "No. That's too bad. Your father and I always enjoyed him. Lawrence of Arabia is such a wonderful film."

"Yeah, remember when we saw it on the big screen?"

"Oh yes! We worried that you were too young for such a long and involved movie, but you seemed to enjoy it. Such a fun evening. You thought the intermission was really something! I had all the ticket stubs in my purse, but we got separated when we went to the bathrooms. They gave him a hard time about re-entering for the second half without a ticket stub. He finally said to the usher, 'Why would anyone try to sneak into the second half of Lawrence of Arabia?' That line of reasoning convinced the kid to let him back into the theater. He sat down just in the nick of time. I felt bad for forgetting I had all the stubs in my purse. He was incredulous that the kid wouldn't let him re-enter, remember how your dad said the kid tried to shake him down for a ticket stub?! Such a funny visual. Your dad being shaken down by a high school kid usher at the movie theater!"

I forgot about all that, but when my mother talked about it the memory came flooding back to me as if it just happened a few nights ago. After that night, my mother always made a big show of presenting my father with a ticket stub after entering the theater "so you can come and go as you please without a shakedown by The Man."

I'm sad that I've lost another piece of my dad. No more new Peter O'Toole presentations to watch "for" my dad.

This is where religious people have an advantage. Thoughts of Heaven and "hey, maybe my dad is hanging out with Paul Newman and Peter Sellers and Peter O'Toole up there!" are comforting. I know because I let myself think that sometimes. If there's a Heaven, I know my dad's there, and it is nice to think about that. It's nice to think death isn't final, that souls live on and all that. It's very, very comforting. It explains thousands of years of religious believers - the afterlife is the biggest selling feature religion has going for it. Very marketable. Even the staunchest non-believer will concede that death and grief are a lot easier for those who believe in an afterlife.

I'll just gear up for TCM's Peter O'Toole-apalooza that's sure to happen in the coming weeks and cling to the memories of watching those movies with my parents.