MOVIES

David and I spent 47 years together. During that time we saw very few movies. We were not much harmed by this lack, but it did stunt our capacity to participate in conversations about movies and to enjoy watching the Academy Awards. We might have watched more movies had it not been for the combination of two factors: David was a loud whisperer and a quiet sleeper. Had he been a quiet whisperer and a loud sleeper the situation might have been entirely different. But then, if I had been a sighted person rather than a blind person, none of it would have mattered. Movie theatres were fewer, larger and more crowded back in 1972 when our dating life began. We would wait in line for tickets and wedge into seats among strangers sitting beside, in front and behind. Things would be fine in this cozy environment until David would notice something happening on the screen and determine that I needed to know it. Then he would whisper a description—sort of whisper--more like a mutter really. “They’re walking across a street. Really tall buildings on both sides.” It suited me fine, but our fellow watchers didn’t like it much. If you listened carefully, you could hear them grumbling. “Quieter,” I’d whisper. It was my best advice, but he didn’t like it much. “I can’t be quieter,” he’d mutter. “Try harder,” I’d whisper—well, maybe it was more of a yelling whisper. Nobody liked it much. Not David. Not the people around us. Still we soldiered along for a while, searching every theatre for the least inhabited space where David could mutter descriptions. If there was one point, one single event that changed our behavior, it was likely the evening when we bumbled obliviously into a German movie with English sub-titles. Five minutes later we were back in the lobby, beging for a refund. “Other customers don’t like it when I read the subtitles to Wendy,” David sanctimoniously explained to the reluctant teen-ager behind the cash register. With no manager on site, he cut his losses and refunded our ticket price. It seemed that many people might be better off if David and I watched TV movies at home. Fortunately, he was a good-natured guy. If he regretted exchanging the big screen for our 13-inch black and white he did not complain. We would find a comfortable position, quite often lying on the couch together. The movie would start. He would describe the action in a normal voice. All would be well. As the movie progressed I would find it easier to follow, being familiar with the characters and what they might do. There was not so much need for help from David. But every silver lining has its cloud. While I was following the plot, he was falling asleep, only I wouldn’t know it, his being a quiet sleeper and all. “Bang bang!” a gun would shoot. “Who got shot?” I’d demand to know. “Shot? I don’t know,” David would reply sleepily. “Why didn’t you wake me up?” This is how a tiny spark of lovers’ quarrel blows into a raging blaze. “If you loved me you’d stay awake,” I’d shout. Neither of us liked it much. We were happily married, perhaps because we learned to reduce the possibility of those bang bang moments. They seldom occurred if we limited our movie watching to movies we’d already seen. Take, for example, The Sound of Music, or It’s A Wonderful Life. Now that David is gone, I find to my great surprise that I am watching a lot of movies, as many as one a day, sometimes two in a row, occasionally three. The stars have aligned to make it possible. Shaw channel 49 shows nothing but movies, I have plenty of spare time, and things have changed more than you might imagine. There’s no longer much need to whisper to blind people in theatres. Many movies now come with description for the visually impaired. You can ask the ticket clerk for a little machine with earphones to hear the extra information. At home you can push a few buttons and if they have recorded description you can hear it on your TV along with the movie sounds. There are many movies which have not yet been described. These are annoying, but now there are options that don’t require the participation of a spouse. If you need to know who shot who when a gun bangs, you can always get the anser in a full plot outline from Wikipedia. You don’t build up much movie history watching one or two new movies per year. The films I watch these days, so old to others, are new to me. You might recognize some of the names: To Kill a Mockingbird, Steel Magnolias, The bells of St. Mary’s, In The Heat Of The Night, Casablanca, Funny Girl, the Judy Garland version of A star Is Born. With great relish I drop their names in conversations with friends, mentioning plot details with such vivid intensity that I might have heard them only yesterday. Those who haven’t seen these movies in four decades are left with the impression that I am a remarkable movie enthusiast with a fabulous memory. Of course, when you discuss movies with friends, the topic inevitably turns to modern movies, to recent and future academy awards. In this realm I am no wiser than I used to be. But reputation is everything. Having already established myself in their eyes as a movie expert, I find it convenient to sit back with great interest and ask for their opinions.