Day 8: and we lived happily ever after

The post that goes with the previous one is definitely not ready, so on a different topic.... Let's talk about happy endings. Books, stories, movies. I love them. I loved them as a child. I loved them as a teenager.

Then I got to college and learned that happy endings are bad. They're unrealistic. They're sappy and sentimental. They're stupid. The intellectuals surrounding me had nothing but disdain--sneering disdain--for any thing that ended with me smiling and feeling warmly about the human race. Is there any influence that's harder to deflect than sneering disdain?


Sometimes I'm convinced the intellectual climate in this country was set up fifty years ago by a bunch of grouchy, alcoholic, unhappily married men, whose discontent spread like a virus we still can't shake. Just saying.

Anyway. I came out of college convinced I only liked serious films and important novels that dealt realistically with life. None of that happy fluff for me.

I know exactly when I changed my mind, and it was when Mel was born. I couldn't bear to raise a child in a world where happy endings are impossible.

Suddenly I hated watching depressing movies (still do). An entire generation of excellent, beautifully made, fully realized, frighteningly depressing movies have passed by without me seeing them. Give me happy endings or give me death.

A few years ago, I added romance novels to the mix. There is no form of writing more reviled than romance novels, usually by people who refuse (with that disdainful sneer) to read them. Romance novels give you unrealistic expectations, we're told. They're bad for you. You shouldn't read them.

But I'm not sure we'd still be married if it weren't for romance novels. My parents' marriage was not particularly happy. For a long time, I could not imagine a way for two strong, opinionated people to be together that didn't involve one person (or both) getting squashed.

I couldn't imagine it, because the only marriage I had seen from the inside was my parents'. Reading romance novels--the best of which are intelligently written and wise-- showed me how good marriages work. How two people can fight and make up and disagree and work things out and be themselves and still love each other.

This whole thing has been a set up for this story: A couple of weeks ago we attended a dinner where there were a number of younger parents, and the topic of the enduring popularity of the movie Frozen came up. Our kids are way too old to succumb to the charm of Frozen, so we've missed the fad. But these other parents knew it practically line by line and had numerous stories to tell about their kids' obsession with Elsa and Anna.

We did see Frozen when it came out, and we were underwhelmed. There are supposedly loving parents who lock up their gifted child. The lyrics of the ubiquitous "Let it Go" are about making a courageous stand but they are sung by someone who is running away from her problems as fast as she can. There is no place to sit down in that ice palace.

But we decided maybe we should watch it again to see if we had missed something. It happens that we've had a bit of a rough week, relationship-wise. Nothing major--just the normal wear and tear of two human beings living together--but it was getting me down. In fact, I was in a bit of a funk about it this afternoon.

So tonight we watched Frozen. All the problems were still there, but you know what? Anna is a hoot. There's some good character building. And the ending is really clever--really clever. Just when you think it's (yawn) the same old Disney hero rescuing the pretty girl, they change it up on you.

And by the end of it, we were friends again. Sappy endings are sometimes just what you need to smooth over the rough edges. Who needs reality anyway?