The babysitter came tonight and my husband and I went out for an intimate, relaxing early dinner, followed spontaneously by a movie. We didn't want to go home before the kids had been put to bed, and really couldn't think of anything else to do. The "creamery" ice cream experience, which had cost us $16 for two the last time, was quickly vetoed by me, but that's a different blog.
My sweetie told me that the only film he'd be interested in seeing tonight would be G.I. Joe. My husband is 30-something, and he remembers the toys and the cartoon, so it was a little bit of nostalgia combined with the desire to see some heart-pumping action. I really didn't care either way, and knew up front that Julie & Julia would be totally out. So off we went, with our popcorn and supersized soda to share.
What followed was action packed, superficial, and ultraviolent. I should clarify though...it wasn't violent in that you saw limbs blown off or very many gratuitous killings or maimings. If I was a 13 year old boy (or girl for that matter), it wouldn't even occur to me that thousands of people would have died had the action been real. But the car smashes, buildings blown up, planes vapourized, all that represented the unknown, unseen characters that make up the "population".
When I became a mother, I became a mother to the world. Bombings, plane crashes, drownings, violence against children, I feel it all. I can extrapolate the pain and horror and apply it to my life. I am still riveted by the individual tragedies unfolded nightly by the news. I know I'm not the only one. My friends tell me the same thing happens to them, nor is it limited to moms - fathers feel the same pull, but I think deal with it differently. I think dads intrinsically know there are things they can't change or affect, while moms - many of us haven't accepted that we're not in charge and can't rescue everyone.
G.I. Joe is not A History of Violence (I still can't pass a motel without seeing images from that film), Slumdog Millionaire, or Resident Evil. It's possibly more stylized and comic book than Transformers. But if I have anything to say about it, my kids won't be seeing it until they're at least 14. Yet, for all of my self-righteousness, I found myself telling my husband how much I had enjoyed it. And I did enjoy it. It was fast paced and kicked butt. So where does that leave me?
Back before we were parents, my husband and I used to let off steam by playing the video game Doom. It was a first-person shooter game that took place on Mars or some place in outer space. It really didn't matter. What mattered was there were really yucky monsters that devolved into even yuckier corpses when I shot them with the mouse. We'd play this for hours - him driving using the cursors and me shooting using the mouse. We'd talk about what we'd do when we had kids - dressing them in little Doc Martens and baby Rage Against the Machine diaper shirts, exposing them to a wide range of music, art and thought.
Now, umpteen years later, parents of three, nearing middle-age, my husband admitted as we were driving home that he couldn't stomach the G.I. Joe cartoon when he was younger. "We'd just come from Italy," he said. "The militarism of the cartoon was hard for me. We still have conscription - there's no choice. Italians know what putting the military in charge leads to - it's fascism." Our children can watch Bugs Bunny, but not Power Rangers, and certainly not Transformers or G.I. Joe. We have exposed them to a wide range of music and their favourite is Doo Wop. Nudity in classical art ("mommy, why is 'the Thinker' naked?") is ok, but fashion magazines are banned. I have become a censor for my children, but haven't applied that same morality to myself. Maybe it's time.
My sweetie told me that the only film he'd be interested in seeing tonight would be G.I. Joe. My husband is 30-something, and he remembers the toys and the cartoon, so it was a little bit of nostalgia combined with the desire to see some heart-pumping action. I really didn't care either way, and knew up front that Julie & Julia would be totally out. So off we went, with our popcorn and supersized soda to share.
What followed was action packed, superficial, and ultraviolent. I should clarify though...it wasn't violent in that you saw limbs blown off or very many gratuitous killings or maimings. If I was a 13 year old boy (or girl for that matter), it wouldn't even occur to me that thousands of people would have died had the action been real. But the car smashes, buildings blown up, planes vapourized, all that represented the unknown, unseen characters that make up the "population".
When I became a mother, I became a mother to the world. Bombings, plane crashes, drownings, violence against children, I feel it all. I can extrapolate the pain and horror and apply it to my life. I am still riveted by the individual tragedies unfolded nightly by the news. I know I'm not the only one. My friends tell me the same thing happens to them, nor is it limited to moms - fathers feel the same pull, but I think deal with it differently. I think dads intrinsically know there are things they can't change or affect, while moms - many of us haven't accepted that we're not in charge and can't rescue everyone.
G.I. Joe is not A History of Violence (I still can't pass a motel without seeing images from that film), Slumdog Millionaire, or Resident Evil. It's possibly more stylized and comic book than Transformers. But if I have anything to say about it, my kids won't be seeing it until they're at least 14. Yet, for all of my self-righteousness, I found myself telling my husband how much I had enjoyed it. And I did enjoy it. It was fast paced and kicked butt. So where does that leave me?
Back before we were parents, my husband and I used to let off steam by playing the video game Doom. It was a first-person shooter game that took place on Mars or some place in outer space. It really didn't matter. What mattered was there were really yucky monsters that devolved into even yuckier corpses when I shot them with the mouse. We'd play this for hours - him driving using the cursors and me shooting using the mouse. We'd talk about what we'd do when we had kids - dressing them in little Doc Martens and baby Rage Against the Machine diaper shirts, exposing them to a wide range of music, art and thought.
Now, umpteen years later, parents of three, nearing middle-age, my husband admitted as we were driving home that he couldn't stomach the G.I. Joe cartoon when he was younger. "We'd just come from Italy," he said. "The militarism of the cartoon was hard for me. We still have conscription - there's no choice. Italians know what putting the military in charge leads to - it's fascism." Our children can watch Bugs Bunny, but not Power Rangers, and certainly not Transformers or G.I. Joe. We have exposed them to a wide range of music and their favourite is Doo Wop. Nudity in classical art ("mommy, why is 'the Thinker' naked?") is ok, but fashion magazines are banned. I have become a censor for my children, but haven't applied that same morality to myself. Maybe it's time.
The violence of Doom has evolved into the proxy killings of Call of Duty, which I would never let into my house. I used to snicker that my mother, who ran kids programs at a local library, would only read young adult novels. She'd say, "I like them. They're so well written they don't need to be gratuitous." Now, finally, I understand. And while I'm waiting for my friend to lend me Julie & Julia, I think I'll take another look at Judy Blume or S.E. Hinton. They're more my speed. Stay gold, pony boy.
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