I Love Movies, Fam.

I love movies, fam.

Like love movies.

I’m a true ’80s baby. Movies raised us.

Some of us probably spent more time watching movies than we did talking to our parents. For me, movies were pure bliss. An escape. Another universe I could disappear into for a couple hours.

According to my mother, this started ridiculously early.

She has told me on several occasions that when I was only one year old, I sat completely enthralled watching The Color Purple.

I have absolutely no recollection of this.

So naturally, I have adopted it as historical fact.

This is how I tell the story:

My taste in cinema was exquisite even as a baby.

While the other babies were watching whatever babies watched, I was analyzing character development, story structure and cinematography.

Probably discussing Meryl Streep’s latest Oscar run.

“Siskel and Moody” was born early.

I’m sure that’s exactly how it happened.

I didn’t just watch movies and television.

I absorbed them.

I would watch my favorite movies and shows over and over until I had entire scenes memorized. Then my brother Jodi and I would reenact them.

At school.

At Latch Key.

Around family.

Basically anywhere somebody was unfortunate enough to give me an audience.

Maybe you’d catch me belting out “Suddenly Seymour” from Little Shop of Horrors.

Maybe I’d roast one of my friends using a joke I stole directly from In Living Color.

Or maybe I’d launch into a full dramatic performance from some movie character.

I knew nothing about method acting.

Apparently I was already doing field research.

Then came Ace Ventura: Pet Detective.

There was absolutely no way anyone could convince me that wasn’t the funniest movie ever made.

Nobody.

Not even Jim Carrey.

And eventually, when Bammy—my grandmother—got the official VHS, my life changed again.

Now, for the younger folks:

Before streaming, there were these things called bootleg tapes.

Somebody would sneak a camcorder into a movie theater, record the screen, copy that recording onto VHS tapes and sell them.

First of all, camcorders back then weighed roughly 70 pounds and were about the size of carry-on luggage.

So somebody had to sneak a small appliance into the theater.

Then the finished movie looked like you opened your eyes underwater without goggles.

You could hear people coughing.

Talking.

Laughing.

Sometimes somebody would literally stand up, walk across the screen and go to the bathroom.

And still...

we watched that shit.

Because movies were incredible.

If you wanted the official VHS, you had to wait.

And wait.

And wait some more.

No streaming release three weeks later.

No digital rental.

You waited like a civilized human being.

Then one glorious day, I got the official Ace Ventura VHS.

Early copies came with a mock Pet Detective badge.

All I had to do was write my name on it.

So naturally, I became:

Marcus Moody — Pet Defective.

But I couldn’t leave the badge looking brand-new.

What kind of rookie shit is that?

I tore it a little.

Rubbed some dirt on it.

Gave it some life.

That way, when I introduced myself as a Pet Detective, people would understand I was seasoned.

Experienced.

Someone you could trust with a missing schnauzer.

I carried that badge everywhere.

And whenever I left a conversation:

“Aaaaaaaaaallll RIGHTY THEN!”

Had to.

That was me.

I was all in on this movie shit.

I remember the first movie that actually changed me.

The movie that made me see life differently after I watched it.

My favorite movie of all time.

The greatest movie ever made, according to Siskel and Moody.

Forrest Gump.

When Forrest Gump came out, I was ten years old.

And somehow I got recruited by a family member to sell VHS tapes door-to-door.

See, this was 19 hundred and 94.

Not long after the LA riots of 19 hundred and 92.

And at that time...

people just had shit.

I was not old enough to understand where all that shit came from.

But I was definitely old enough to know:

Don’t ask no dumb-ass questions.

I was offered a cut of the sales.

Twenty dollars a tape.

I got about ten dollars.

At first I said no because I assumed they were bootlegs.

Not because selling bootlegs was illegal.

Please.

I had too much respect for cinema to sell something with that kind of production value.

Eew.

Then I saw the merchandise.

Casper.

And Forrest Gump.

Official jackets.

Plastic wrapped.

Brand-new.

Both movies were still in theaters.

😅

Now I know what you’re thinking.

Where the fuck did they get those VHS tapes?

Correct.

Guess what?

I didn’t ask.

I got to work.

“Hi mister, would you like to buy a movie? I have Casper and Forrest Gump.”

Nobody believed they were real.

So I brought demonstration copies.

I’d let people watch a little bit.

Once they realized I wasn’t selling them some blurry theater recording with somebody’s uncle walking across the screen, they bought.

And I noticed something strange.

People bought Forrest Gump way more than Casper.

My conclusion?

These people don’t know movies.

Because in my ten-year-old mind, Forrest Gump was some boring old-person movie.

Then came the summer of 1995.

I was home.

Bored as shit.

Remember being bored?

Man.

We were lucky.

So one day I finally put Forrest Gump in.

And for the next two and a half hours...

my whole universe disappeared.

I had never seen no shit like that.

I had never felt that close to fictional characters.

My boy Forrest.

Da homey Bubba.

My guy Lieutenant Dan.

And, of course...

flip-flopping-ass Jenny.

When the movie ended, I watched it again.

That summer, I probably watched Forrest Gump every day.

I memorized it.

Rewound scenes obsessively.

Studied the music.

Studied the performances.

Studied why things made me feel what they made me feel.

I understood Forrest wasn’t just some strange guy stumbling through American history.

He wanted what everybody wants.

To be loved.

And while he searched for love...

life kept happening.

People came.

People left.

People died.

Things worked out.

Things didn’t.

And Forrest just kept moving.

He played the hand he was dealt.

That piece of art changed me.

It showed me something I still believe:

Movies can help us navigate life.

After that?

The Godfather.

Tombstone.

Heat.

Everything.

I stopped only watching what happened onscreen.

I started looking for what the movie wasn’t saying out loud.

Movies, television and stage plays still affect me the same way.

They still speak to me.

I’m still enthralled.

Still analyzing.

Still on my Siskel and Moody shit.

I watch a lot of movies.

Some stick.

Some don’t.

Then every once in a while, one grabs me.

Recently, one did.

A Big Bold Beautiful Journey.

A Big Bold Beautiful Journey looks like a romance.

Sarah and David meet.

They get to know each other.

They begin falling in love.

But the movie gives them something normal relationships never can:

They can actually enter each other’s past.

Not hear about it.

Not empathize with it.

Experience it.

That difference matters.

For example:

I don’t like oranges.

As a kid, I loved them.

Then one day I got a bad orange.

One bite made me nauseous.

To this day, looking at an orange can bring back that feeling.

You can understand that.

You’ve probably had something similar happen with food.

But imagine you could actually go back there with me.

You’d see this happy little chubby kid absolutely geeked about this orange.

Carefully peeling it.

Smiling.

Smelling it.

Probably refusing to give you a piece.

Then...

bite.

My face changes.

Your face changes because now you know something has gone terribly wrong.

I start gagging.

I’m hunched over.

Probably rolling around like somebody needs to alert medical personnel.

And you’re watching this tiny citrus tragedy unfold in real time.

Then we return to the present.

You look at me.

I look at you.

And you say:

“Bruh...that was one orange.”

😂

And you would be absolutely correct.

But now you’d understand.

That’s the world of A Big Bold Beautiful Journey.

Sarah and David don’t just explain themselves.

They witness the experiences that built one another.

The humiliating shit.

The painful shit.

The regretful shit.

The moments that quietly became personality.

And this is where, for me, the movie becomes much bigger than romance.

Sarah and David have both hit walls.

They aren’t really living anymore.

They’re existing.

Looping.

Repeating behaviors that keep them safely inside the same bubbles.

Their past has scarred them enough that their minds now recognize certain paths as danger.

So they avoid them.

David presents a version of himself to people, then runs when they fall in love with that version.

Sarah runs when love gets too close because some part of her has decided she doesn’t deserve it.

Different behaviors.

Same prison.

They have both reached cliffs in their lives and decided:

Nah. I’m good right here.

The possibility of getting hurt again has become more frightening than staying stuck.

And eventually life loses some of its excitement.

Its adventure.

Its feeling.

They successfully imprison themselves with their own minds.

That shit hit me.

I watched this movie flying to Miami on the way to take my kids on a Disney cruise out of Fort Lauderdale.

So picture the scene.

I’m sitting beside my whiny six-year-old and my hollering two-year-old...

watching what I thought was a romantic comedy...

having a full existential crisis.

😂

I started thinking:

What next step am I avoiding because I’m afraid an old pain might return?

What reality has my mind created that I’ve mistaken for reality itself?

Where have I been standing still because standing still feels safer than moving?

And most importantly:

How do I move forward?

Maybe that’s why this movie stayed with me.

Because sometimes the thing keeping us trapped isn’t the cliff.

It’s our memory of the last time we fell.

And eventually you have to decide whether avoiding pain is worth avoiding life too.

Maybe the journey isn’t something we survive on the way to wherever we’re trying to go.

Maybe...

the journey is the point.

So if you’ve been looping...

if you keep finding yourself standing at the same cliff...

maybe it’s time to move.

Take the next step.

Open the door.

See what happens.

Life might hurt again.

Probably will.

But is life really life if it isn’t a big, bold, beautiful journey?

Anyway...

I’m about to go buy an orange.

Take a bite.

See how this goes.

Join me?

🍊

—Moody Maestro

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