For a long time my friends have tended to approach me when their romantic lives get rocky. I’ve heard some crazy stuff. You have no idea. I have consoled my friends in time of romantic crisis, through those self-caused (and occasionally repeated – you know who you are) or entropic, but still painful moments that seems to be a part of life’s process. I’m not complaining about it. I love my friends and I’m glad that we have the relationship that allows us to communicate freely even when the subject might be uncomfortable for one or both of us.
I also hope that when they do come to me, that I’ve been a source of comfort or maybe good advice. I like to think that I have a good random sample of data that allows me to put my finger on the pulse of what’s going on in the romantic relationships of twenty- and thirtysomethings. I might be wrong, but hey, I haven’t received a complaint or even a sound of protest yet. The point of this ramble is that, despite my own experience, and the experiences that my friends have brought to the table of my life, I had absolutely no idea where these guys were coming from. How stupid do you have to be to consider for even a moment that this situation would result in something that even vaguely resembles a healthy relationship. Not that I don’t get the source of the problem. The movie discusses, in pretty frank terms, the slumps that enter into almost every relationship. But one of the problems I had with this movie is by the time the story opens and we see what’s going on, these guys are substituting sex with crossword puzzles. If these guys were in the grief cycle over their relationship, they’d be waffling somewhere between denial and acceptance, which suggests drastic measures, because you should never just accept the death of your marriage.
It took me about twenty minutes to start frowning. That’s not a good sign because I can still get through most of Spaceballs without negative facial reactions. This couple’s discussion of their lives is ridiculously depressing, considering that neither of them really seems to have much to complain about with the exception of their lack of passion towards each other. They spoke about sex in ways that reminded me of how a substance abuser talks about their drug of choice. It sounds like when my grandmother talks about the smell of a newly lit cigarette… and she hasn’t smoked for longer than I’ve been alive. It made me sad and a little angry. The dialogue didn’t help matters too much. It was heavy on manipulation and subtle probing towards a single, unapologetic goal (the freebie). While I’m glad this wasn’t a disgusting romantic comedy where it’s been three years and these guys are acting like bunnies, this was awkward and disappointing. There’s only so much worthless angst I can tolerate.
45 minutes in, I was skipping forward. I skipped so frequently I eventually sent my Netflix stream into buffering limbo for about five minutes. I couldn’t listen to the justification for this situation, particularly after the whole discussion about how they couldn’t discuss their own plans. If you’ve ever witnessed a car accident or train wreck so horrible that it went by in slow motion… The Freebie was like one big slo-mo effect, if slo-mo could be pregnant with manipulation and crap. Endless discussion and preparation for the big day; scenes filled with backdrops of the sunny southern California coast. The rage and jealousy build. Worse still was the totally predictable, even obvious ending and results.
If you’re looking for an hour and twenty minutes of pure, unadulterated drivel, or you need to know what NOT to do to spice up your marriage, check this out.
