Watching the Academy Awards made me cry though not because “Mad Max: Fury Road” swept the Oscars.
I got misty because I miss my friends. A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away existed a magical group known as The Movie Club. Three couples came together because we discovered our mutual obsession with fine cinema, although fine and cinema could be debated (we once watched “Bringing Down the House” with Steve Martin and Queen Latifah because it was slim pickings at the theater).
What began as an occasional social outing evolved into a monthly movie night for more than 15 years with a group of acquaintances who became some of the truest friends I’ve ever had. And then they moved.
If The Movie Club were a screenplay, it would include compelling storylines for sure. We had rich character development – each of us grew through the course of our time together. Our lives shaped and re-shaped us into who we aspired to be and, sometimes, who we needed to be: engaged community leaders, effective managers, diligent and protective caregivers, crisis counselors. We changed jobs, hobbies and houses, especially the latter. Collectively, we moved 12 times, I think. At one point, we all lived on the same street, which turned our movie club into a spontaneous wine club, walking to each other’s homes for an early evening glass of Pinot.
There was a strong narrative arc to our group, too. We shared the loss of loved ones together. Some of the children got married and had children. Two of the husbands had heart catheterizations. The recession hit a few of us hard.
We faced disappointment, heartache and transitions together, all the more the reason to celebrate happiness. We took birthdays to a whole new celebratory level. Fitting for a movie club, we embraced the concept of a theme. We surprised Sara, our politically-savvy club member, with a red, white and blue dinner. Hellen got a gourmet cooking class and Walt, the pilot, an aviation-themed night. We once held a surprise “anti-party” for Chick, always the humble one who tried to avoid the birthday spotlight. Not a chance, mister. Our entire dinner centered around a faux celebration of everyone and everything but him. We toasted the neighbor down the street and the wine glasses on the table. Of course, we got around to honoring the birthday boy.
Oh, and we watched movies.
Lots of them.
Our usual routine included catching a late-afternoon matinee with dinner after to offer our film critiques. It’s remarkable to think of it now, given all the things we had going on in our lives, but we seldom missed a month together at the theater. Sometimes, if nothing good was on, we’d end up at one of our homes and watch a rental. We kept a list of the movies we’d seen, though none of us could agree on the first movie we first saw together.
And you can’t have a movie club without honoring the big cinematic kahuna of them all, the annual Academy Awards. We went all out with our Oscar parties – the food represented the nominated films. English Tea Cakes for “Gosford Park,” French for “Somethings Gotta Give.” But, like any good film, our story came to an end. Walt and Hellen moved out of town first, then Chick and Sara. Mike and I are still here. Each year we turn on the TV and watch about half an hour of the Oscars, but it’s not the same.
Cue the closing credits. And the memories of a movie club that once was and always will be Oscar worthy in friendship to me.