Why I felt alone watching "Lars and the real girl"

If you haven't seen Lars and the real girl yet, stop reading. I'll be revealing something that happens in the story. Although it doesn't necessarily *spoil* the movie, I believe in giving fair warning.

Still there? Okay...

You want to see LATRG, because (1) it stars (giggle*sigh) Ryan Gosling, (2) the screenplay was written by Nancy Oliver, who also wrote scripts for a little program called Six Feet Under, (3) it also stars Patricia Clarkson, another knock-out transplant from SFU, and (4) it's based on a Scandinavian film (when it comes to portraying a frozen human heart in a stark winter setting, those Scandinavians know their stuff).

I saw it in the movie theatre when it was first released, and it was one of the most frustrating experiences of my movie-watching career. And not because of cell phones or candy wrappers.

Apparently, everyone in the AMC theatre that night had bought tickets for a comedy. I don't know if they were expecting Ben Stiller or Owen Wilson to make a cameo, but they definitely continued to laugh long after it was appropriate.

I admit, when Bianca, Lars' half-Swedish, half-Brazilian blow-up girlfriend first arrives, there are some genuinely comedic moments. But LATRG is also a drama.

As Lars' heart starts to thaw, he announces that Bianca is very sick; subsequently, as his confidence increases, so does the severity of Bianca's illness. 

Until Bianca dies.

As I am sobbing*, so full with the miracle of Lars' transformation, made ecstatic by the beauty of the human heart, the rest of the audience is laughing. Somewhat uneasily, but they are laughing at the absurdity of a sex doll being buried in a coffin. So many people impervious to the message of the narrative. So many people puzzled by the conflicted feelings being provoked by the images. They had obviously wanted to see a silly comedy, but instead, they ended up at a movie about feelings.

The control freak in me wanted to stop the reel and explain what was happening on the screen with arrows and a laser pointer. The anti-social curmudgeon in me wanted to slap them all. Twice. The raw heart in me wanted a group hug.

LATRG is certainly not a seminal film that will spawn a new movement and impact filmmakers for the next half century. However, it was very well written and impeccably performed, and I feel like I missed something because I was too busy being annoyed by the rampant indifference around me.

It's coming out on DVD... maybe I'll just buy it and sob my little heart out at home.

*NB. I don't cry at movies. Ask my friends. It happens twice a year, and usually when I'm pre-menstrual.