Did you get caught up in the Barbenheimer craze? Did you watch Barbie on the big screen? Did you spend the three hours on Oppenheimer? Did you mortgage a kidney to pay for snacks?

For me, the answers are yes, no, and no. I have a cinema loyalty card – I get discounted eats. I’d planned to see both, perhaps even on the same day – the marketing for the Barbie movie was stellar, I can be sold, and deep movies about how humans suck are kind of my jam – but I cooled on the Oppenheimer story after a couple of essays about Christopher Nolan, and the ongoing emptiness of his female characters. I had not real disagreement.

He also directed the worst death scene in cinematic history. Marion Cotillard should pay whatever it takes to have all records of it stripped from the internet.

The big Oppenheimer problem for me, however, is the run time. I’m no longer interested in three-hour movies at an out location. The improved chairs aren’t that comfortable. I’ll watch them at home – maybe – because I can pause for the bathroom, and fast forward through the boring bits.

The fast-forward feature of streaming has made watching movies at the theatre problematic for me. I’ve broken my concentration skills a little. They work when I’m reading, mostly, but I no longer feel compelled to put up with crap or boring bits in movies, and there’s a lot of crap and boring bits.

I’m not sure if it’s a function of age or personal growth, but I’ve become a critical consumer. That wrecks so many things. Sitcoms have become nearly unwatchable.

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Once upon a time, for me, movies could do no wrong. The theatre was a blessed escape from a raging eating disorder, a depressive episode, my struggles in life. In fact, if you wanted to get on my bad side, criticizing a movie I loved was a good call. I can get quite defensive about things I’m emotionally attached to.

I go all-in when I watch movies at the theatre. I sit in the dark and I disappear. I’m not me for that period of time and for much of my life, not being me has been the goal.

Not to brag, but sometimes, it’s hard to be me. Okay, it’s a little bit of bragging. But if you don’t have your mental illnesses, you don’t have anything.

Also, if we go to the movies together, don’t talk to me once the playback starts. I will be testy.

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I went to the movies nearly every week, once upon a time. Alone, because I’ve spent much of my life alone, and matinees, because they’re easier if you’re alone. Nobody pays much attention to a single during the afternoon, and I also find it easier to leave – it’s not dark, barring end-of-world event, and sometimes the dark is an unnerving place. Like in semi-deserted parking lots after an emotionally agitating film.

I could always find something I wanted to watch or watch again. This is the joy of the multiplex. I watched the animated “Beauty and the Beast” at the Capitol 6 nine times. It was a bad period in my life. I saw “Strictly Ballroom” six, and ditto.

I went to the movies even when things were good. I like living somewhere else for a bit, especially when the elsewhere comes with overpriced popcorn. Though in my eating disorder years, eating it meant nothing else that day.

Fun fact – Corn turns out to be one of the foods I’m sensitive to. Interestingly, I’m more reactive to it for having a break. Good times. I’ll probably still have popcorn at the show. I’ll just buy a small and antihistamine up.

Then came COVID-19 and I stopped going to the movies. We all stopped. But I never started back up. I never went back to the theatre. Partly because movies stream quickly now, and you don’t have to wait too long to see them at home, and partly because, like most, I became a little institutionalized with the shutdown and struggled in some areas to normalize again.

And then came Barbie. The advertising campaign sucked me and millions of others in, but it didn’t tell you what the movie was about. That remained a mystery. But it looked beautiful – an important quality in a movie – it had a great cast, and it was directed by the quirkily enjoyable Greta Gerwig.

Do you suppose she hates being called quirky? I’ve been labelled similarly in the past. It always felt like a socially acceptable version of “weird.” I’ve since grown to enjoy being weird, but I’m older than Greta.

The Barbie movie was the first thing I’ve been excited about since 2019. A lot has happened since then, and I lost my connection to anything that felt like joy. The marketing for this movie made it look like it had joy in spades.

I bought tickets in advance so we could go the first day. I bought pink capris at the thrift store, an absolutely convenient find. Yes, I thanked the Barbie god. I followed the hashtag across my various socials – and aren’t they a bit of a pain to keep track of. What aren’t we doing while we’re social media-ing? But, I digress.

I was a bit worried in my secret heart that I was headed for a letdown. That’s often the case with things that have great hype – a lot of Marvel movies are merely okay. But from the opening homage montage, I knew I was in good hands. I knew my giddy anticipation was going to be rewarded.

But the Barbie movie gave me more than joy in the moment. I went to the movies again, and it was amazing. I can’t wait to go back. I was excited to see the Barbie. I didn’t know it was going to give me back a piece of me.

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