I have been asking Wayne (begging really) to take me to see Atonement for weeks now, and this weekend he finally did.
He did not want to see this movie. For one, he doesn’t like “period” movies. Meaning most things set in the past. He especially hates anything set in the 1800s. (“I’m not watching any of that 1800 crap” is a favorite saying of his.)
Atonement was not of 1800 vintage. It was set during the twentieth century, specifically around World War II. (World War II era films are acceptable in Wayne’s book.)
But the other reason he dragged his feet about seeing it was he thought it was along the lines of one “those crappy 1800 chick flicks I like.” Meaning, a sappy chick flick drama such as Sense and Sensibility or Mansfield Park, which are two of my all-time favorites.
He’s been promising me for three weekends now he’ll take me, but somehow strangely enough something’s always come up. But this week I got us set up with his newfound love the DVR. I think he was trying to do something sweet to say thank you, so he looked up show times and informed me when I needed to be ready to leave.
I was so excited! Wayne was not. It was obvious he was gritting his teeth and bearing it all on my behalf.
So we get to the show and I was not smitten or “captivated by every scene” as one reviewer had glowed about the film. The storyline jumped back and forth between character views and time frames, which left me confused and trying to keep up.
But by the end of the movie it all made sense why they told the story in such a manner. I’m not giving out any spoilers, but suffice it to say the ending was tragically delightful. One of those ultra pathetic endings that are the hallmarks of great love stories. So sad I was fighting back tears as hard as I could because I did not want Wayne to see me crying. I knew he’d tease me relentlessly.
So there I am, trying to surreptitiously dab at my eyes and stifle my sobs, when I hear him release a big old sob and start wiping at the tears streaming down his face.
About that time I wanted to alternate between laughing and crying. Not laughing at him, mind you, but laughing because he must have gotten invested in the characters and story after all.
Sure enough, as we’re leaving the theater, he said, “That was a really good movie. I only wish we’d seen it at home, though. I could’ve cried in peace then.”
“You liked it?”
“It was a great movie.”
It was, and for more reasons than one.
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