Perils of watching movies with my mother

On Mother’s Day, sons of cinema-loving mothers across the land will be asking the same question: “So Mom, it’s your day. What do you want to see?” Some will choose the thriller “Poseidon.” Others the Robin Williams chuckler “RV.” Not my mother. She’s more of a “Notorious Bettie Page” kind of gal.

Movies, especially the daring ones, are hemoglobin to my mother. She’s attended at least one film a week for as long as I can remember, despite the pressure of raising three children and working full time as a social worker. Even today, as a 69-year retiree with an artificial hip and a handicapped-parking tag hanging from her rearview mirror, she continues to frequent Twin Cities theatres, seeking out the bold and original. And she’ll see anything. All that matters to her is if “it’s supposed to be good.” If it meets that standard she’ll want to see it. And she’ll likely want me to see it with her. That’s when things get tricky.

Watching Fred Ward have sex
I have seen hundreds of films with my mother. Most of the experiences have been perfectly pleasant. Most of them. Then there are the outings that scream out for university study.

It started when I was in grade school. For some reason she had confidence that at a young age I could handle mature material. Don’t ask me why; I wouldn’t say I was an emotionally advanced young man (I thought pro wrestling was real well into my 20s). But she knew I shared her love of movies and must have thought this was something we could enjoy together.

So while my friends were queuing up to see “Star Wars” for the ninth time, she was sneaking me into R-rated films like “Saturday Night Fever.” As a result, I became accustomed to watching the occasional steamy scene with her. Nothing too lurid; Bill Murray’s Aunt Jemima treatment in “Stripes” was as erotic as it got. Things didn’t get uncomfortable until I got older. How uncomfortable? Three words. Henry. And. June.

It’s been 16 years since we watched that film and I’m still reeling. I was living at home after graduating from college — my Costanza period — and considering a career as a writer. Knowing this my mother suggested the film since “it’s about the novelist Henry Miller!” I figured why not.

Now there are moments when a 21-year-old man wants his mother around: at his wedding, to co-sign for a loan, when he’s starving. Not during a movie in which Fred Ward has sex with Maria de Medeiros like the plane is going down. I was aghast. My mother, of course, was oblivious. Her only comment as we walked to the car was “Well that was really good, wasn’t it?” I guess. I just didn’t know how I was going to pay for the inevitable years of therapy. And I still haven’t been able to read “Tropic of Cancer.”

Then there was the time she brought home a rental of “Damage,” the sexy Jeremy Irons-Juliette Binoche thriller. Not the theater release, mind you, but Louis Malle’s director’s cut. Good lord. Now I can appreciate some hot screen sex; I know the Billy Bob Thornton-Halle Berry scene in “Monster’s Ball” like others know the Zapruder film. I just don’t want to watch it with my mother sitting next to me sipping Diet Pepsi and knitting.

Thanksgiving Day trauma
Which brings me to Thanksgiving Day 1994. My mother, who is a traditionalist and quite conservative in her personal choices, if not in her films or politics, had prepared a feast for the family. As we were finishing up, she announced the evening’s film (we always watch a movie after a holiday meal): “The guy at the video store recommended this one … it’s called ‘Spanking the Monkey.’”

I spat a brussels sprout across the table that nearly took my sister’s eye out. “‘Spanking the Monkey’! Good god, Mom, don’t you know what that’s about?”

“No,” she said. “I just heard it was by this interesting young director and it was supposed to be good. Why, have you seen it?”

I had seen it. For those who haven’t, it’s David O. Russell’s first film and it features some excellent acting, a marvelous soundtrack, and a scene where Jeremy Davies, there’s no other way to put this, bangs his mother.

“Mom, didn’t the title alone make you think this isn’t a family film?” I asked.  “I’m not watching that with you. No way.”

Ten minutes later my dad had fallen asleep, my brother was reading a magazine and my sister was on the phone. I was sitting next to mom watching the film. I half expected someone from the county to burst in and separate us. But we watched it. It really is a pretty good movie. And, you know, the mom is hot.  

MORE FROM MOTHER'S DAY

Mother's Day Section Front

5Top: The best moms on television Emily, Jacob still top names for new moms Pampering products for Mother’s Day Perils of watching movies with my mother Mother’s Day gifts that make a difference Mother’s Day: Nurturing ambition A carefree Italian way to toast Mom Treat mom to adventure this Mother’s Day A great time for the gift of wine Mother's Day Section Front   Add Mother's Day headlines to your news reader: