I saw The Lovely Bones last night.
That was a big mistake.
I don’t really know if it was a decent movie or whatever. I’m sure the acting was probably alright; it starred Marky Mark Wahlberg and that pretty actress from The Mummy with the hair that I want and this new girl who had scary eyes but a very warm smile and Stanley Tucci with fake teeth and blue contacts and Susan Sarandon. I do know that the scenes of Susie Salmon (like the fish) in between heaven and earth were super weird and not really cool-weird. Mostly weird-weird.
I don’t remember much about the movie itself. I remember every single ounce of pain and sadness and fear and sympathy and anger I felt while I watched.
I remember that when I joked with my friends that they should “remember what I’m wearing” as I walked out of the theatre, the only one going my direction towards a big, empty, DARK, parking lot, I wasn’t actually joking. And that I spent the entire ride home checking my rear view mirror to make sure there weren’t any murderers stowed away in my back seat. And that I had to fight the overwhelming urge to wake the girls up just to hug and kiss and squeeze them. And that it took me until after midnight to feel confident enough to go to bed without having nightmares.
I don’t shy away from controversial books or movies. I prefer (I wouldn’t say like because I don’t think like is an appropriate word here) books and movies that teach me things about life and human nature, good and bad. I want to be fully informed about what kind of world I’m living in and what these other inhabitants are capable of doing. Again, good and bad.
But seeing this movie was a bad idea.