HOP Review: Super 8 (Spoiler and Tears Alert)
I haven’t done a HOP Review in a long time, mostly because I am trying to do most of my product/service/etc. features and reviews on Agoura Hills Mom, and also because I’m trying to do less of those, period.
I sat down to write a post about how Super 8 made me finally lose it, but I suppose this is a commentary on the movie as a whole, and don’t movies count more when they strike a chord in you for whatever reason? Yeah, it’s like that.
Last weekend Stewart and I got into our pajamas and snuggled in bed to watch the movie on DVD – he picked it out of the big stack of screeners of current and new films I have from the Producers Guild. Because my mother said it was “cute.”
I knew I was in trouble from the opening scene, in which a tween boy dressed in formal black halfheartedly kicks at rocks while idly swinging on a swing in the front yard of his house, where it is obviously cold outside. Right away I knew it was a funeral and one of his parents had died. Right away I knew I was going to cry.
Super 8 was written and directed by J.J. Abrams, who is clearly the unholy spawn of Steven Spielberg, who is credited as producer. It might as well be Spielberg himself who made it. Maybe Big Steve just doesn’t feel like getting out of bed anymore, and he just tells Abrams what to do on a cell phone, or via Skype. Whatever. If you didn’t read the credits you would think this was 1989 and the film was the latest Spielberg release.
So anyway, there’s the sensitive tween boy with a dead mom who was the only person in the world who understood him, and he has a macho cop dad who is charged with saving their small steel mill town from a bizarre alien who lives underground and just wants to steal everyone’s microwaves to make a spaceship to get home.
What killed me was when the tween boy finally faces the alien and says:
Bad things happen. But you can still live.
And right then and there I finally, and spectacularly, lost it. Thank goodness I was in my pajamas, in my bed, and in my husband’s arms. I cried and cried and cried until my head hurt. To Stewart’s credit, after he asked me “Are you crying about the movie?!” he finally understood what was happening and just remained silent and patted my shoulder and didn’t even rewind the movie so he could hear what was happening.
I start to cry again a little bit now as I type this, just thinking about it. I needed that good hard cry. It’s been coming for more than a month. It’s probably not the last one that I will need and/or experience, but it was the release I didn’t realize I was waiting for.
So thank you,
Steven Spielberg J.J. Abrams for making this complete ripoff of E.T./Close Encounters of the Third Kind/Stand By Me, and thank you to whatever studio it was (Dreamworks plus whomever) for pimping it out for awards season, which is why I got the screener. I needed that.