We Spent 45 Minutes Choosing a Movie and Then Went to Bed
The snacks were ready. The couch was comfortable. All we needed was a film that satisfied fourteen unspoken conditions.
By Jack Sullivan | After Credits
Picture a couple settling onto the couch at eight. The dishes are done. The lights are low. There is a bowl of popcorn between them, still warm enough to suggest that somebody had a plan.
“What do you feel like watching?”
“Anything.”
This is the first lie of movie night.
Anything, it turns out, excludes horror, subtitles tonight, anything too sad, anything too silly, that actor who was in the thing, and a perfectly respectable thriller rejected because the thumbnail “looks exhausting.” Nobody is being unreasonable. Both people simply want a good movie. They would also like it to suit a mood neither can describe.
You choose
The remote changes hands. This appears to be progress.
“You choose” sounds generous, but the person holding the remote soon discovers that they have been appointed to present candidates. Approval remains a joint responsibility. A comedy is proposed. Too broad. A drama. Too serious. A romantic comedy. Possibly, but can we see what else there is?
There is always something else. That is both the selling point and the problem.
One promising film goes onto the watchlist, where it joins the other promising films being saved for a future evening when everyone is apparently going to have more energy and a clearer sense of purpose. Tonight’s selection process continues.
A trailer might help. Two minutes later, the couple has seen a marriage fall apart, a car leave a bridge and a detective discover something that changes everything. They now know considerably more about the plot than they wanted to and still have no opinion about pressing Play.
Five trailers later, the popcorn is gone. It has accompanied an ambitious festival of films nobody has watched.
The empty shelf had its advantages
This is where the old video store starts looking suspiciously efficient.
Blockbuster had its frustrations. The movie you wanted could be out. The box art could promise an experience the movie had no intention of delivering. And the tape eventually had to go back, requiring you to put on shoes for a transaction that now seems almost aggressively physical.
But an empty space behind a display case settled the matter. You could not keep considering the unavailable movie. You picked something else. There were shelves to browse, a closing time and, often, somebody waiting by the door with the snacks.
A rental was a small commitment. Once you had brought the thing home, you were inclined to give it a chance. Sometimes that meant sitting through a dud. Sometimes it meant discovering that the second choice was exactly what the evening needed.
Streaming offers a wonderful freedom from those limits. It also makes it easy to keep shopping after you have found something you might enjoy. There is no trip home to mark the end of choosing. The menu is right there, ready to welcome you back.
A perfectly good movie will do
Back on the couch, it is now 8:38. Someone checks a runtime and performs the bedtime calculation. A two-hour film that sounded reasonable forty minutes ago has become an irresponsible undertaking. Even ninety minutes looks pushy.
“We could watch something we’ve already seen.”
This suggestion deserves more respect than it gets. A familiar comedy has an excellent qualification: you already know it makes you laugh. You can miss a line while looking for the blanket without losing track of a conspiracy involving three governments.
The urge to find something new is understandable, especially when there is so much available. But an evening off does not have to demonstrate growth. Nobody is checking whether you made sufficiently adventurous use of the television.
The little trap is expecting a film to justify the whole night before it has even started. It has to reward a long day, please two people and prove that there wasn’t a better choice three rows down. That is a lot to ask of a thumbnail.
At 8:45, one person yawns. The other looks relieved. The television goes dark, and the evening receives its final verdict: “Let’s try tomorrow.”
There is something rather sweet about this failed screening. Two people spent forty-five minutes sitting together, trading opinions and laughing at a trailer that probably wasn’t meant to be funny. Neither got a movie. Both got company. There are worse ways to spend the last decent stretch of a long day.
Tomorrow, perhaps they will choose the first film that looks good enough and let it surprise them. Tonight, they agree on bed immediately. Apparently they can make a decision when the synopsis is clear.
