A movie review, of sorts

Hello Friends, a little time off, a family-movie night gone 

wrong, and we've got ourselves a blog post. 

Alternate title: when teenagers, parents, 

and sex enter the family room.

After a glorious Thanksgiving day of cooking and home time, we cozied up with family movie-night, a rare opportunity together for Bob and me and our two teenagers. My favorite bonding posture is on the sofa, with my daughter to the right, my son to the left. (Bob, whose doppleganger is Ed O'Neill, in his recliner is a given.) Blankets, footstools, cats, and kiddos settled into a cozy family room of holiday togetherness, we turn on the movie – “We’re the Millers” with Jennifer Aniston and Jason Sudeikis. It didn’t take long for the boredom to set in as evidenced by me turning on my Kindle, my 17-year-old daughter opening up her laptop, and Bob, who was already cranky from a spider-induced infection, to voice his annoyance about the script. The only one who wasn't completely bored was likely our 14-year-old son, but my guess is he split his time between wanting to laugh hysterically and blush profusely. The mixture of responses (boredom, annoyance, blushing, and laughing) was magnified during the scene when the movie dialogue went something like this:

“You suck his dick.”

“No, you suck his dick.”

“I’m not sucking his dick, you suck his dick.”

You get the idea. (So sorry to include this raunchy movie clip on this post, but it helps make my point.) Where do I begin? As parents, we haven’t been much into censoring our kids’ films and books. In fact my daughter had already seen this movie and thought it would make for a fun family togetherness. She meant well, but I think she decided that watching the “dick” scene with her parents wasn't so funny after all. (I’ve done that plenty of times – remembered a movie as innocent fun but then realized when watching it with mixed company that maybe not.) Still, I don’t think banning movies is the answer. (I watched “Due Date” with my son twice. We both liked it a lot.)

My problem isn’t so much about the vulgarity, although there is that. My problem is more about the lack of creativity. The poorly written screenplay. The jokes that relied so heavily on crude sexual references, that they were not funny. If I’m going to give two hours of my precious free time, I want to experience innovation and, if possible, even artfulness. Not trying to be a snob, but I’m desperate for cleverness and beauty as one who has so little leisure time and so much routine. I crave inventiveness.

Besides the unoriginal plot and horrible writing, the other thing that bothers me more and more, in the 51 years of my life and counting, is the objectified position of women whether it be in movies, on TV, in the workplace, or in the world. After “We’re the Millers” was over I asked my kids why Jennifer Aniston (and/or her body double, if she had one) had to remove her clothing when Jason Sudeikis did not? And all the questions about the Hollywood treatment of women vs. men. “You don’t see Tom Hanks stripping,” I said. “You don’t see movie posters zooming in on penises.” My kids were pretty horrified, at that point of our family movie night.

And then there’s the racism (in this case, specifically how Mexicans are portrayed as illegals hiding underneath RVs to cross the border or as corrupt officials who can be bribed through, say, oral sex, aka the aforementioned dialogue). And to top it all off, the movie utilizes an exaggerated Minnesota accent to convey stupidity and ignorance. (You betcha, I’m from Minnesota, one of the most progressive states in the U.S.A.) And the formulated characters, the requisite reoccurring supporting-role-family-in-RV-with-extreme-Minnesota-speak who act as extreme foils for the bad-ass main characters, lobbing like softballs the lines and situations for gratuitous laughs that don’t at all move the story forward. (Minnesota-accent mother feeling Jennifer Aniston’s breasts in the camping tent and then so excited, as if she’s won the hotdish bake-off in her church basement, that she’ll never wash her hands again – give me a break.)  As my Minnesota mother would say, “Uffda.” As I would say, I have known so many church-basement-sounding ladies who have rocked so many complicated global solutions. Supposing that women who sound like "Minnesota church ladies" are unworldly, is unfair and untrue. I hate that stereotype.

But it’s not just his movie. I have nothing against this film per say. My problem is with so many attitudes and so many ways that women are degraded, immigrants are humiliated, and images of sex fall far short of anything close to intimacy. The thing is, I can let all these things go and take a stronger stand in our next family movie selection. But what I really want to do is to arrange for my kids to un-see this movie, and to un-hear all the influences that come their way that tell them that women are dirty, that Mexicans are drug dealers, that sex is grubby.
There’s a snarky side of me that seeks to dig up the actual movie script of “We’re the Millers.” To print out three copies and sit with my two teenagers around the dining room table. There would be pizza rolls and soda pop. We would take turns reading the script aloud, line by line. Besides being awfully embarrassed, my kids would be subject to hearing me rip to shreds the quality of the writing, in the off chance they didn’t see it for themselves. I’d have them rewrite the lines, rewrite the movie, rewrite every scene in their lives when they hear something demeaning or hateful.

However, I’m a believer in parenting through positive experiences and reading that script line by line would be torture for all of us.

I’d like to let it go. I’d prefer to enjoy my glorious days of holiday break before moving on to our normal lives of crazy busy, as we will come Monday. But the mother inside of me can’t. Not sure what I’ll do, but it will probably involve some sort of comfort food and discussion that my kids will dread. It may turn into a one-way conversation, a lecture delivered by me, about respecting women, loving our neighbor, seeking authentic human relationships. My influence is so small, but I have to try, gosh darn.

Thanks much for coming over to my blog. I wish you all a lovely and sane Thanksgiving weekend. 

With love from yours truly,

Natural Born Bleeding Heart

P.S. If you saw this movie and you liked it, feel free to dispute me. I’m not posting this to judge you or anyone. I’m posting this to consider my parental choices.