I can’t handle that sad sack, grieving parent bullshit anymore. It hits too close to home these days.
Interstellar was a gorgeous movie, dare I say it–almost 2001: A Space Odyssey for the modern era–but in order to save humanity, he had to basically abandon his young daughter and miss her entire life, not returning until she was a hundred years old. Even his great grandchildren were older than him by the time he got back. I raced home to hug P that day.
Last night, V and I watched Arrival. Mysterious alien spacecraft positioned around the world, the race to communicate before the lowest common denominator starts a War of the Worlds, featuring the indomitable Forest Whitaker and time travel? Yes please! But then it starts with a sad sack, single mom raising terminally ill daughter montage, which is repeatedly thrown in your face over the course of two hours, before being revealed as actually being the future, as the movie closes with another montage showing eventual single mom all over again, but this time you know she knows her daughter is going to die a horrible death.
I practically raced to my mom’s to pick up P after her sleepover in the morning. It’s good to be reminded of appreciate every moment we have with our little ones, but I’m not watching any more gratuitous, grieving parent bullshit.