First, I have to shout out for putting the idea for a debate on the “best city filmography” into the Substackverse. I threw my hat into the ring to write about Boston. You can read my section and all the others here:

Why We Go To The Movies

The Debate: What Is Cinema’s Greatest Film City?

I rewatched Vertigo recently and was reminded just how beautiful San Francisco looks on film…

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6 hours ago · 24 likes · 18 comments · Alessandro Di-Girolamo

I had to significantly cut my original by about 75% to get it into the debate, but I thought I’d post the full version here. What’s your favorite city to see on film?

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Boston (sit down, New York! Get out of here, LA!) is the best setting for a film. If you want your movie to have authenticity, working-class heroes, and good old-fashioned grit, Boston is your city.

This wasn’t always the case. Thirty years ago, the only notable films set in Beantown were The original Thomas Crown Affair (1968), Love Story (1970), and The Verdict (1982), but let’s face it, none of those really feel like Boston (and I would know, I’ve lived within an hour of the city for most of my life). With the nineties bringing us the forgettable Blown Away (1994) and Celtic Pride (1996) it seemed like Boston was a less-than city, dead in the dirty water for filmmakers.

But then came two men out of the darkness, ushering in a new appreciation for the town that birthed a revolution, with a film that changed how we looked at Boston, with its specificity in location and themes, laying the foundation for the Boston Identity.

I’m talking of course about Matt Damon and Ben Affleck and Good Will Hunting (1997), the most Bostony movie that ever did Boston. It Bostons all over the place, and is the blueprint for a “Boston movie.”

From there, you can see the bones of Good Will Hunting throughout the best Boston movies of the 21st century, where setting and story become inseparable:

• Boondock Saints (1999)

• Mystic River (2003)

• Fever Pitch (2005)

• The Departed (2006)

• Gone Baby Gone (2007)

• The Town (2010)

• The Fighter (2010)

• Shutter Island (2010)

• Ted (2012)

• Spotlight (2015)

• Black Mass (2015)

• Manchester by the Sea (2016)

• CODA (2021)

That’s a damn fine list. If you include Good Will Hunting, that’s 45 Academy Award nominations and 15 wins (3 for Best Picture).

But what makes these movies special, and thematically resonant, and therefore making Boston the greatest film setting of the 21st century, is how the setting is inextricably linked to the story. The locations are not only filled with landmarks (the gold domed state house in The Departed, Fenway Park in The Town, Bunker Hill and Harvard Square in Good Will Hunting), but also the run down apartments (“triple deckers”), derelict warehouses, neighborhood bars, and the labyrinthine streets give each film that gritty urban atmosphere that is so unmistakably Boston. Even the suburbs (Lowell in The Fighter, Gloucester in CODA and Manchester by the Sea) feel authentic.

These films nail the Massachusetts vibe, and provide an undeniable sense of place, but what resonates most for people is the rough-around-the-edges, working-class heroes that wear loyalty on their sleeves, often to a fault. To embody a Bostonian, it takes more than just actors dropping f-bombs and “r”s from their words (though, it helps), and the best at it are the natives; they just get it. If you want a real Boston movie, you have to have either Damon, Affleck, or Marky Mark (does anyone under 40 understand that reference? IYKYK).

So here are the top five films that are the most Boston, and where the city itself enhances the story. Grab some popcorn, kid, and have a wicked good time.

Good Will Hunting | Directed by Gus Van Sant

The comment on class division is very clear; tough, working class Southie kids and Cambridge academic snobs don’t mix. And when they do, we’re rooting for the little guy, the poor underdog, a tried and true Boston trope (and reality). I always cheer when Will verbally tears down the Harvard boy and gets Skyler’s number.

The Departed | Directed by Martin Scorsese

Damon again? As a slimeball mole in the state police? Yes, please! I could listen to him say “Troopah” all day, but Marky Mark is no slouch, either. He’s so Boston, it’s impossible for me to buy him in any other setting (with all due respect to Boogie Nights (1997) and The Other Guys (2010)). He steals every scene as hothead investigator Sergeant Dignam, leading to his first and only Oscar nomination. The film nabbed four Oscars, most notably for arguably the greatest director of all time, Martin Scorsese. But Boston is the real star, with the blurred lines between law enforcement and crime and toxic loyalty running rampant.

The Town | Directed by Ben Affleck

No Matt Damon, but we’ve got Ben Affleck (who also directs)! You wanna talk about toxic loyalty? Doug (Affleck) and Jem’s (Jeremy Renner) whole relationship is built on debt and guilt. So much so, that Doug cannot escape The Town. And that neighborhood loyalty? It’s real. If you have a friend from Boston, they will literally step in front of the T for you (but call you a dumbass while they do it).

The Fighter | Directed by David O. Russell

This movie puts the “fun” in dysfunction. Marky Mark is steady as Micky Ward, but this movie belongs to Christian Bale as his drug addicted brother and Melissa Leo as his tough mom. They are both so Massachusetts—I know them. I’ve seen them. They are what Bill Simmons calls “deep Mass,” which is akin to saying “the Deep South,” but for New Englanders.

Ted | Directed by Seth MacFarlane

I had to put a comedy on the list. The grit doesn’t have to be so serious, y’know, and this movie is very self-aware of its Bostonness. Tom Brady worship is real, and when Marky Mark rattles off white trash names? I don’t know if anyone outside of New England gets it, but my goodness it makes me laugh.

There you have it. Did I convince you? Is Boston the best city for movies?! What’s your favorite movie-city?

Chris Bujold is an occasional improv comedian and community theatre actor, and he teaches English, Film, and Theatre at a public high school in New Hampshire. Once based in New York City, he founded a theatre company before returning to New England, where he has directed and performed with various improv groups. His written work has appeared in Twenty-Two Twenty-Eight, Roxane Gay’s The Audacity, and Wayfarer Magazine. His book, Robot Dreams and Suburban Nightmares, a “cinememoir,” comes out this fall.

I’ve really enjoyed my summer, finding other movie-lovers and joining this community. It’s reminded me what I love about movies: talking about them!

I’m about to embark on my nineteenth year of teaching high school, and releasing a book, so I don’t know what my Substack output is going to be as we hit September. In the meantime, enjoy this.

In my film analysis class, the most important thing is to get students watching, paying attention to, and responding to film. Early on in my teaching career, most students were on board. Smart phones were in their infancy and scrolling through Tik Tok dances and watching YouTube were not consuming teenage brains. I could hold their attention with a two-hour movie. I could show something a little abstract; they may not have understood it completely, but were at least open to trying. I could show a three-hour epic with a sprawling and complicated plot, and they’d be able to recall the story over multiple days.

That is not the case anymore. Things have changed and it all comes down to how we consume movies (and all media, really). Smartphones, social media, and streaming services have taken away much of the social aspect of movie-watching, so in my class I try to integrate as much informal discussion about our favorite movies. This, I think, says so much more about students than anything else. Arguably the best part of teaching is getting to know the students, their likes and dislikes, and discussing ideas and opinions–building relationships through conversation. But that doesn’t happen overnight. That first day is awkward and weird, but as nervous as students may be, I’m just as nervous. One would think after teaching for so long I wouldn’t get nervous, but I still do. The anxiety dreams still litter my brain the night before. Will students be demons? Will I be able to speak without stuttering? Will I all of a sudden not be wearing pants?

I’m almost always wearing pants on the first day, but I break the ice by giving students a questionnaire from Brett Goldstein’s podcast “Films to be Buried With,” where he asks guests about the films that mean the most to them. It’s honestly brilliant, because movies define and shape us. I believe this to my core. I make sure to go through every question, student by student on that first day. Everyone starts loosening up, and commenting on each other’s choices. The personality of the class starts to take shape, and the ice has officially been broken. It’s fun! It also gives me an opportunity to memorize everyone’s name on the first day, using audible mnemonic devices to help me remember, like “Ghostbuster Gary,” whose first film he remembers seeing as a child was Ghostbusters, or “Spider-Man Sam,” who put down Spider-Man for every single answer.

Answers to these questions provide a great snapshot of personality, likes, and interests. For the past seven years, Hereditary and The Conjuring have overwhelmingly been the answers to “what movie scares you the most.” What does that say? Is there something about family trauma that resonates for some reason? What I find way more interesting though, is the unconventional choices, like the student (I nicknamed him “Jumpin’ Jack Flash”) who said he was terrified by Wreck it Ralph. Let’s unpack that, bro!

This might be regional, but hometown hero Adam Sandler is the king of comedies; his movies are always at the top of “what makes you laugh the most.” But when Lofty Leo responded with Little Miss Sunshine, I had to pause. Little Miss Sunshine? I mean, it’s funny, but it makes you laugh more than any other movie? You just got ten times more interesting, Lofty Leo!

A Dog’s Purpose reigns supreme on “what makes you cry” (dogs dying–I know), but what is way more telling are those that answer with, “I don’t cry at movies.” Okay. Sure. I get it. Either you are not in touch with your emotions, or you don’t want to admit to everyone you are in touch with your emotions. Either way, you intrigue me.

But my favorite answers are to the question “What film means the most to you, not because the film is any good, but because the memory associated with it makes it memorable?”

“Sonic the Hedgehog while babysitting my niece and nephew.”

“Fast and Furious because I love seeing cars race.”

“Spider-Man: No Way Home, because I left school early that day to see it.”

And I will always remember you, Cool Cowen and your fondness for Evil Dead II and Killer Clowns from Outer Space because they remind you of your dad (by the way, can I meet him? Because I bet we would be friends).

To keep the conversations going throughout the semester, every Monday I open with “Movie Monday,” asking the class what they watched over the weekend. The first few classes: crickets. But by the time we reach the halfway point of the semester, I don’t even have to ask. Students bust into the classroom, excited to share what they saw.

This is the thing.

Movies as social activity. Movies bring us together and connect us. We talk about our opinions, interests, and ideas. We laugh. We think. We consider who we are and reflect. We relish in our humanity.

On the last day of my first year of teaching Film Analysis, a student (who went on to get a film degree and become a teacher) came up to me and said something that I’ve kept in my mind every year since: “Thank you for this class. I don’t know if everyone got what I did out of it, but I love movies, and at the very least you got us talking. At the end of the day, that’s what it’s all about: talkin’ ‘bout movies.”

I couldn’t agree more. Keep those conversations going, people.

What movie means the most to you? Like, comment, share, subscribe!

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Chris Bujold is an occasional improv comedian and community theatre actor, and he teaches English, Film, and Theatre at a public high school in New Hampshire. Once based in New York City, he founded a theatre company before returning to New England, where he has directed and performed with various improv groups. His written work has appeared in Twenty-Two Twenty-Eight, Roxane Gay’s The Audacity, and Wayfarer Magazine. His book, Robot Dreams and Suburban Nightmares, a “cinememoir,” comes out this fall.

I can’t believe you came back! Thank you! If you are new, read Parts One, Two, Three, Four, or Five!

This list comes from one chapter of my book, Robot Dreams and Suburban Nightmares (on sale soon). The chapter “Feel My Heat” is about my time as a theatre major in college and how I was obsessed with Robert DeNiro and to a lesser extent, Pacino, Norton, Oldman, and Pitt. I took myself very seriously.

Enjoy my Watchlist–Part Six: Method Masterclass!

Do you have a favorite actor?

Streetcar Named Desire (1951) | Directed by Elia Kazan

The story about a nervous woman visiting her working-class sister and brother-in-law is still electrifying. Brando’s iconic performance as Stanley Kowalski might be the single greatest performance put on film, yeah because he’s so good and natural and electric, but also because it changed film performances. It marked a clear shift in film acting, from “acting,” to “being.” The film and play are the best. See them both.

4 out of 4 STELLAS!

On the Waterfront (1954) | Directed by Elia Kazan

Union violence and corruption amongst New Jersey longshoremen. It’s quite good. I’d always heard Brando’s performance was one for the ages, and it was built up so much, I thought there was no way it could live up to my expectation. It did. This one is a stone cold classic, people.

4 out of 4 Brandos.

Dog Day Afternoon (1975) | Directed by Sidney Lumet

Pacino attempts to rob a bank and things go horribly wrong. Pacino is exceptional as a first time crook that has no idea what he’s doing.

3 out of 4 Atticas.

Serpico (1973) | Directed by Sidney Lumet

Gritty seventies cop drama ’bout a cop who don’t take no bribes. I don’t really have anything else to say about that.

2.5 out of 4 Mustaches.

Taxi Driver (1976) | Directed by Martin Scorsese

Bleak, man. Real bleak. Posters of De Niro with a mohawk and guns blazing were on many college dorm room walls. It’s good, but definitely not “feel good.”

3.5 out of 4 Talkin’ to Mes.

Raging Bull (1980) | Directed by Martin Scorsese

Biopic of boxer Jake Lamotta. Beautifully shot in black and white, edited superbly, and, of course, De Niro gives an unflinching performance.

3.5 out of 4 Fat Lamottas.

Midnight Run (1988) | Directed by Martin Brest

De Niro plays a bounty hunter trying to bring Charles Grodin’s white collar criminal across the country. Zany obstacles get in the way. “Fuck” is said SO MANY TIMES. De Niro and Grodin are amazing together, but it’s Grodin’s deadpan that makes me laugh the most. I highly recommend it!

4 out of 4 Shut the Fuck Ups.

Goodfellas (1990) | Directed by Martin Scorsese

Peak Scorsese. Ray Liotta becomes a gangster. Joe Pesci goes wild. De Niro does De Niro. See it. Everything about it is good.

4 out 4 Paulies.

Cape Fear (1991) | Directed by Martin Scorsese

Oh, this is damn good. Edge of your seat thriller. And De Niro’s performance as Max Cady, the criminal terrorizing his former defense attorney is unhinged. One of my favorites.

4 out of 4 Come Out Come Out Wherever You Ares.

Heat (1995) [see heading under “RoboCop is My Dad” in Watchlist Part 2]

Godfather Part II (1974) | Directed by Francis Ford Coppola

Some say this is better than the first one. Perhaps. It’s deeper (and darker), if that’s even possible. Brilliantly told, with flashbacks to De Niro playing a young Vito Corleone, channeling his inner Brando and speaking Italian through most of the movie. He won his first Academy Award. But, like the first one, it’s Pacino’s movie, picking up his quiet intensity right where he left off in part I. Go watch I and II together in a marathon movie day.

4 out of 4 Offers You Can’t Refuse.

Mean Streets (1973) | Directed by Martin Scorsese

It’s a very good movie about small-time crooks, with awesome, natural performances, but it’s a little rough around the edges. If you want polished Scorsese, watch his later films.

3 out of 4 Keitels.

The King of Comedy (1982) | Directed by Martin Scorsese

Bizarre movie with De Niro playing a stand-up obsessed with Jerry Lewis. I guess it’s a “comedy,” but it’s dark. It’s like Scorsese made a movie and went, “This is how you do comedy, right?” Uh…I guess so?

2 out of 4 Pupkins.

Brazil (1985) | Directed by Terry Gilliam

Hey, I love this movie, but it’s not for everybody. Absurd, philosophical, abstract, funny, and weird, it’s like a satirical sequel to Orwell’s 1984. My friend James and I sat in his 14th street studio apartment in 2000 and watched the director’s cut, and then immediately watched it again with the director’s commentary. The story behind the distribution of the film is fascinating and chronicled in the Jack Matthews book The Battle for Brazil. See the movie and read the book!

4 out of 4 Bureaucrats.

Angel Heart (1987) | Directed by Alan Parker

De Niro plays the devil and hires Mickey Rourke to find someone that owes him a soul. Moody. Sinister. Noirish. It’s alright.

2.5 out of 4 Souls Sold.

Awakenings (1990) | Directed by Penny Marshall

De Niro plays a man who wakes up from a catatonic state, and Robin Williams is his doctor. It’s really good, but a tearjerker.

3.5 out of 4 Tears.

Stanley and Iris (1990) | Directed by Martin Ritt

Jane Fonda teaches De Niro to read and they fall in love. Look, in 1990, Goodfellas, Awakenings, and this came out. They can’t all be winners.

1 out of 4 Illiterate Men.

This Boy’s Life (1993) | Directed by Michael Caton-Jones

Coming of age tale set in the fifties with Leonardo DiCaprio going head-to-head with De Niro as his abusive stepfather. Well done.

3 out of 4 Jars of Mustard.

Jackknife (1989) | Directed by David Jones

Very well-acted, little-seen film about Vietnam vets trying to cope. Ed Harris is the real stand-out. It’s a small and serious movie.

3 out of 4 Vets.

Seven (1995) | Directed by David Fincher

As far as police procedurals go, this is one of the best. Morgan Freeman, days from retirement, and Brad Pitt as his young hot shot partner, track down a serial killer in a nameless city where it rains all the time. It’s gross, it’s shocking, and it’s really good. Don’t watch with a full stomach. I saw it in a tiny theater with my sister in Dover, NH, next to an incredible breakfast place. Good memory—you can read it here.

4 out of 4 Pretty Little Heads.

12 Monkeys (1995) | Directed by Terry Gilliam

Mind-bending time-loop movie with Bruce Willis and Brad Pitt playing his best cuckoo. Great visuals. I saw it with an old girlfriend who balled her eyes out so much at the end that I was a little embarrassed. I mean, it’s sad, I guess, but come on. Keep it together!

4 out of 4 Monkeys!

Sleepers (1996) | Directed by Barry Levinson

Solid movie about boys that get abused by guards at a correctional facility, and as adults get their vengeance. Legally and otherwise. It’s a quiet movie. Me and some friends drove from Keene, NH, to Boston, MA (a two-hour drive) to see it opening night. Because what else are you going to do on a Friday night in college?

3 out of 4 Abusive Guards.

The People vs. Larry Flynt (1996) | Directed by Milos Forman

Biopic with Woody Harrelson as Larry Flynt, the creator/publisher of Hustler. That’s the showy role, as is Courtney Love as his wife. There’s also all the messaging about free speech, blah blah, okay. But right after I saw the film, I immediately said to myself, who is this Edward Norton guy? His understated, subtle performance as Flynt’s lawyer is what I latched onto. I’ll just watch all the scenes with him, please.

3 out of 4 Nudes.

American History X (1998) | Directed by Tony Kaye

WHAT. This is the same actor that played that lawyer in The People vs. Larry Flynt?! Complete transformation. Norton plays a reformed neo-nazi trying to save his brother from getting in too deep. It’s violently brutal. Norton is terrific, the movie is so-so.

2.5 out 4 Curb Stomps.

Rounders (1998) | Directed by John Dahl

By the time this came out, I was a fan of the director, having seen and loved both Red Rock West (1993) and The Last Seduction (1994). Matt Damon and Edward Norton get involved in high-stakes underground poker. It came out right before the Poker boom of the aughts. It isn’t a bad movie, but I prefer the other two John Dahl pieces. John Malkovich as a Russian mobster that eats Oreos is both hilarious and frightening, and the best part of the movie.

Red Rock West and Last Seduction get 4 out of 4 Neo-Noir Points.

Rounders gets 3 out of 4 Oreos.

True Romance (1993) | Directed by Tony Scott

Stacked to the brim with a great ensemble cast, led by Christian Slater and Patricia Arquette on the run from the mob, a pop culture filled script by Quentin Tarantino, and flashy, stylish direction from Tony Scott, this is one not to miss.

4 out of 4 Comic Books.

Leon: The Professional (1994) | Directed by Luc Besson

A hit man takes in a twelve year old girl (Natalie Portman’s debut) and teaches her how to be a killer. Their relationship is innocent but awkward and a little problematic today. Gary Oldman’s dirty cop obsessed with classical music is fantastic.

3 out of 4 House Plants.

Immortal Beloved (1994) | Directed by Bernard Rose

Gary Oldman’s performance as Beethoven outshines the movie itself. Skip it.

2 out of 4 Symphonies.

Jackie Brown (1997) | Directed by Quentin Tarantino

It was impossible for Tarantino to live up to expectations after Pulp Fiction. At the time, people were lukewarm about this movie when it came out (myself included), but damn, this ensemble comic crime caper has aged like a fine wine. It has become one of my favorite Tarantino films. De Niro, Bridget Fonda, Robert Forster, and Michael Keaton are all awesome.

4 out of 4 Gun Runners.

Wag the Dog (1997) | Directed by Barry Levinson

In a weird case of life imitating art, the film’s plot surrounds a presidential sex scandal and the war that is made up to distract voters. It came out months before the Lewinsky-Clinton scandal and subsequent bombing of the Al-Shifa pharmaceutical factory in Sudan. Also, it’s a comedy.

2 out of 4 Media Spins.

Analyze This! (1999) | Directed by Harold Ramis

De Niro lampoons his gangster persona as a mobster in therapy and Billy Crystal plays it straight as his therapist. With my obsession of De Niro in full effect, I giggled like a schoolgirl through the entire thing.

3.5 out of 4 Shot Pillows.

Meet the Parents (2000) | Directed by Jay Roach

Funny and silly, lovable schmuck Ben Stiller meets his fiancée’s parents, the father of which is the intimidating, ex-CIA agent Robert De Niro. Hilarity ensues.

3 out of 4 Cat’s Nipples.

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That’s it for this week. Who’s your favorite actor? One that you will see in anything, no matter what? Like, comment, subscribe, share!

Chris Bujold is an occasional improv comedian and community theatre actor, and he teaches English, Film, and Theatre at a public high school in New Hampshire. Once based in New York City, he founded a theatre company before returning to New England, where he has directed and performed with various improv groups. His written work has appeared in Twenty-Two Twenty-Eight, Roxane Gay’s The Audacity, and Wayfarer Magazine. His book, Robot Dreams and Suburban Nightmares, a “cinememoir,” comes out this fall.

This week is another two-fer—and on a theme, no less! The watchlist today (Tuesday) comes from one chapter of my book (Robot Dreams and Suburban Nightmares, coming soon). On Thursday, I’ll be posting some deleted vignettes from my book—all concerning “date movies.” If you haven’t read, catch up on Watchlists Parts One, Two, Three, and Four. This one covers only one chapter, but it’s a doozy. Are all these movies romantic? Heck no! They just happen to be movies around while I fell in love…so, enjoy the Watchlist Part Five: Movies to Fall in Love Over.

I decided to add a romance scale beneath my usual arbitrary rating system. Cuz I’m romantic.

Chapter Thirteen: “We’ll Always Have Blade Runner”

In a film class in college, while the professor spouted off all the ways that the film Blade Runner should be considered The Greatest Film of All Time, I met my future wife. Movies became a key part of falling (and staying) in love, even if we didn’t always agree.

Psycho (1960) | Directed by Alfred Hitchcock

It still holds up! I teach this film to teenagers and they like it. Hitchcock manipulates the audience left and right as Marion Crane runs away with $40,000. And Anthony Perkins as Norman Bates is perfection. Everyone should see it.

4 out of 4 Stuffed Birds.

On the romance scale? Yikes. 1 out of 4. Unless you’re into voyeurs.

Gigi (1958) | Directed by Vincente Minelli

Terrible movie musical set in turn-of-the-century France. It won a bunch of awards. No thanks.

Thank heaven for 1 out of 4 Little Girls.

I guess there’s romance, but, ew. Slightly better with a 2 out of 4.

Birth of a Nation (1915) | Directed by D.W. Griffith

Is this film Important? I guess so, in that it is the first full-length movie ever, and used all kinds of film techniques that had never really been utilized. I’m not saying we should erase history or anything, but it’s hard to watch people in blackface playing horrendous racial stereotypes and assaulting women and then the Ku Klux Klan shows up to save the day. Yikes.

1 out of 4 Racists.

No Romance. Only Racism.

Double Indemnity (1944) | Directed by Billy Wilder

The noir-iest noir that ever did noir, it’s one of my all-time favorites. An insurance man gets duped by a dame and kills her husband to collect the money. Filled with great lines like, “How could I have known that murder could sometimes smell like honeysuckle?” and “Shut up, baby,” it’s the best.

4 out of 4 Femme Fatales.

It’s romantic in a dangerous way, like many films of the era. 2.5 out of 4.

Blade Runner (1982) | Directed by Ridley Scott

Harrison Ford tracks down synthetic humans in this science fiction masterpiece. It’s not for everybody, but it gets deeper and more rewarding the more I watch it.

4 out of 4 Tears In The Rain.

2 out of 4 Romantic Robots.

Caddyshack (1980) | Directed by Harold Ramis

Zany antics ensue at a country club that actually makes some interesting comments on social class. But in a silly, eighties way. Bill Murrary as Carl the groundskeeper is one of the greatest supporting character performances in film history.

3 out of 4 Gophers.

There’s some sexcapades. 2 out of 4.

Army of Darkness (1992) [see heading under “Movies with Friends” in Part Four]

Good Will Hunting (1997) | Directed by Gus Van Sant

The little indie movie that could. With authentic Boston accents! Matt Damon and Ben Affleck received Academy Awards for their screenplay. I watched the telecast with my mother, and when they accepted their award, they were so excited, and young, and optimistic. My mother started crying. When I asked her why, she said, “I just picture you and James up there.” That’s a nice memory. The movie, about a working class boy genius, is really good! Recommended.

3 out of 4 “Rs” Missing From Boston Accents.

“Gotta see about a girl”? COME ON! 4 out of 4.

The Godfather (1972) | Directed by Francis Ford Coppola

Make no mistake, this film about a crime family is one of the best films of all time, but not everyone loves it. If you go in knowing nothing, it’s confusing. It took me a couple viewings to get it. Marlon Brando got all the accolades for his performance (and the Academy Award), but Pacino is the star. It’s his movie. Michael Corleone’s character arc is engrossing and tragic. Horse heads, Sicily, and baptisms…Everyone should see this movie once in their life.

4 out of 4 Offers You Can’t Refuse.

There’s a nice romantic interlude with Apollonia, so for that reason alone it gets 3 out of 4.

Citizen Kane (1941) | Directed by Orson Welles

Touted by many as “the greatest film of all time,” and it makes sense. Orson Welles was a genius and way ahead of his time. This movie changed the game. Orson Welles was doing things that filmmakers just didn’t do - deep focus, extreme camera angles, innovative editing - and movies would not be what they are today without it. And aside from the technical prowess, the movie is actually good! And holds up! Great acting and narratively interesting, it profiles a fascinating character that just wants his sled.

4 out of 4 Rosebuds.

I mean…he loved that sled. 1 out of 4.

The Parent Trap (1998) | Directed by Nancy Meyers

I projected this movie at a theater dozens of times and found myself watching it every time. I find it so enjoyable! Lindsay Lohan, in her first film, plays twins scheming to get their parents back together. When Lindsay Lohan and her butler do their handshake to Young-Holt Unlimited’s “Soulful Strut,” I cannot help but grin. And that Dennis Quaid smile brightens the screen! It’s a remake, but I prefer it to the original.

3 out of 4 Dennis Quaid Smiles.

The whole plot involves getting a divorce couple back together! 3.5 out of 4!

There’s Something About Mary (1998) | Directed by Peter and Bobby Farrelly

The Lady freaking LOVED this movie when it came out. And it is funny. In a sophomoric way. Ben Stiller had a solid run as the loveable loser in a lot of movies, and this one kind of kicks it off, playing a man who vies for the attention (as do others) of Mary, winningly played by Cameron Diaz. It’s one of those movies where I like to watch a handful of scenes, but don’t really care to sit down and watch the whole thing.

2.5 out of 4 Hair Gels.

It’s called a “Romantic” Comedy. Even though it’s creepy. 2.5 out of 4.

The Blair Witch Project (1999) | Directed by Daniel Myrick and Eduardo Sanchez

A game changer that set off countless imitations. While not the first to employ the technique, the “found footage” genre really starts here. Three film students, making a documentary on the local myth of “The Blair Witch,” get lost in the woods. This movie is the footage found in those woods. The film was improvised by the actors, who also shot all the footage, with clues and scenarios dropped off by the directors, who never interacted with them face to face. The result is a genuinely frightening, first person, what the fuck is going on piece of cinema. What I remember most, though, is the genius marketing plan. The film was sold as real, an actual found footage film, and since the actors were no names, it worked. The website was set up as a missing persons site, and the hype that audiences were watching real people go through something terrifying resonated. It’s one of the most profitable films ever made. My only real critique is some of the improvisation feels unnatural, and the shaky camera gets a little old.

3 out of 4 Stick Figures.

No romance. None. Zero. Only fear.

Blast from the Past (1999) | Directed by Hugh Wilson

Enjoyable, if forgettable, movie about a boy that grows up in a fallout shelter with good old fashioned values, and then enters the modern world with an “aw shucks” attitude. Classic fish out of water scenario. Your life will not change one bit if you see or not see this movie.

2 out of 4 Bomb Shelters.

I don’t know. I guess 2 out of 4?

Unbreakable (2000) | Directed by M. Night Shyamalan

Not Shyamalan’s best, but not his worst, either. It’s middle-of-the-road Shyamalan, whose name is really fun to say. Sha-ma-lan. Sha-ma-lan. Sha-ma-la-la. Sha-ma-la-la-ding-dong. Anyway, it’s a superhero origin movie based in the real world that is dark and brooding and has so much whispering (like so many of his movies). Things get silly when “the twist” is revealed. “They call me…MISTER GLASS!” Eye roll.

2.5 out of 4 Suspenseful Whispers.

Nope. No romance here, either. Move along.

A Night at the Museum (2006) | Directed by Shawn Levy

Fun kids movie with Ben Stiller as a security guard at The Museum of Natural History where the exhibits come to life at night.

3 out of 4 Sacagaweas.

There’s love, but no romance.

Being John Malkovich (1999) | Directed by Spike Jonze

Absolutely bananas movie about an unemployed puppeteer that enters the mind of weirdo actor John Malkovich. Truly original and bizarre with an almost unrecognizable John Cusack and Cameron Diaz playing against type. It’s an experience. See it.

4 out of 4 Malkoviches.

It’s actually oddly romantic. Cameron Diaz and Catherine Keener truly grow and change and love each other in the end. 3 out of 4.

Blade (1998) | Directed by Stephen Norrington

Solid superhero movie about a vampire hunter that happens to be half-vampire. I guess that means he’s a self-hating vampire. Cool sword fights.

3 out of 4 Fangs.

You’re funny, thinking there might be some romance.

Office Space (1999) | Directed by Mike Judge

Absolutely spot-on and relatable look at office culture. It’s very funny. The Lady and I watched it in my parents’ spare bedroom on a 13” TV/VCR combo. Having just graduated college, and entering the workforce, we felt like we were watching something essential. Gary Cole as Lumbergh is genius.

4 out of 4 Staplers.

Jennifer Aniston and Ron Livingston are cute. 2 out of 4.

Idiocracy (2006) | Directed by Mike Judge

Underseen, brilliant, and hilarious satire about an everyman that accidentally gets cryogenically frozen for hundreds of years and wakes up in a dystopian future where everyone is dumb and he’s the smartest person on the planet. A pro wrestler is president, people’s toilets are in their living rooms, and crops die because the world waters them with a sports drink because “it has electrolytes.” If you are a smart person, you will be amazed at how astute and intelligent this film is. As the years pile on, I find our current reality resembling the world of Idiocracy more and more. It’s quite tragic.

4 out of 4 Electrolytes.

I mean…there’s a girl that’s a sex worker? 1 out of 4.

Best in Show (2000) | Directed by Christopher Guest

In my opinion, the funniest film of all time, and the best of Christopher Guest’s improvisational mockumentaries. Following five sets of characters entering a prestigious dog show, every actor/character makes me laugh hard.

4 out of 4 Pine Nuts.

I see it. Between those couples. 2 out of 4.

Step Brothers (2008) | Directed by Adam McKay

Another top-tier comedy. Will Ferrell and John C. Reilly are incredible together, but Adam Scott and Kathryn Hahn as Reilly’s brother and sister-in-law are also comedy gold. Is it stupid? God, yes, but really fucking funny. Will Ferrell is one of the great comedians of our time. I have friends that don’t like him; they don’t think he’s funny at all. I don’t know how this is possible. If you’re one of these people, I guess you can skip this movie and go live your humorless existence.

3.5 out of 4 Chewbacca Masks.

Kathryn Hahn. She elevates to a 2 out of 4.

The Descent (2005) | Directed by Neil Marshall

Friends go spelunking in the Appalachian mountains and encounter monsters. Absolutely terrifying. Very scary. It’s a really good horror movie. See it. Then call me. I wanna talk about it.

4 out of 4 Piles of Skulls.

ZERO ROMANCE. GET ME OUT OF THIS CAVE.

Napoleon Dynamite (2004) | Directed by Jared Hess

Quirky independent comedy with Jon Heder in the titular role. He’s so good he didn’t really find any work after this. Weirdly, what I like best about this movie is how its whole aesthetic is stuck in some time between the seventies and nineties, but set in the aughts. Afterwards, I remember saying to The Lady, “What year was that set in?” Napoleon’s dance at the end is tremendous, and it’s a lifelong goal of mine to recreate it.

3 out of 4 Votes For Pedro.

Um…1 out of 4? for Kip and Lafawnduh (yes, that’s how it’s spelled in the movie)?

Drive (2011) | Directed by Nicolas Winding Refn

This neo-noir about a stunt driver that moonlights as a getaway man, is perfection. Ryan Gosling says very little but packs a wallop. The Lady pretty much fell in love with him after seeing this movie. Jeez, I practically fell in love with him, too. The soundtrack was on repeat in my car for quite awhile. Highly recommended.

4 out of 4 Elevator Fights.

It’s hot. 3 out of 4.

Casablanca (1942) | Directed by Michael Curtiz

Overrated. Sorry.

2 out of 4 Sams Playing The Piano.

Hey it’s considered one of the most romantic movies of all time, so…I guess a 3 out of 4.

What’s your favorite date movie? Like! Share! Comment!

Chris Bujold is an occasional improv comedian and community theatre actor, and he teaches English, Film, and Theatre at a public high school in New Hampshire. Once based in New York City, he founded a theatre company before returning to New England, where he has directed and performed with various improv groups. His written work has appeared in Twenty-Two Twenty-Eight, Roxane Gay’s The Audacity, and Wayfarer Magazine.

I’ve long said that the experience of consuming art (literature, music, movies, etc.) is more important than the art itself. That’s not to diminish the art; there would be no experience without it. But the memories of when you first saw Picasso’s Guernica after travelling for hours, or heard Pearl Jam for the first time on your Sony Walkman, or created a diorama book report of Charlotte’s Web in the third grade, or saw Apocalypse Now in 70mm in a packed theater of weed smokers in Times Square, are what matter.

But memory is unreliable.

Stay with me.

With everyone so hot for Christopher Nolan and The Odyssey right now, I’ve been thinking a lot about his films. My favorite of Nolan’s movies by far is Memento. It’s a masterpiece and a work of genius (and I don’t throw those words around lightly). The generic plot description is a man named Leonard with anterograde amnesia tries to find his wife’s killer. But my God, the way it’s structured is brilliant. The movie starts at the end of the timeline, but not the end of the story. The story ends in the middle of the timeline.

Say what now?

There are two alternating timelines we follow, both featuring our aforementioned vengeance-seeker Leonard, and Nolan cuts back and forth between them. One timeline, in color, moves backward, meaning each scene ends where the previous one began. But the second timeline, in black and white, moves forward in traditional fashion. The two timelines eventually converge at the end of the movie (and the story).

Mind-blowing. Truly. And it doesn’t feel like a gimmick. It serves a purpose. The structure puts us in Leonard’s shoes, as we feel like we have short term memory loss. We figure out the puzzle with him. We are only ever given information he has.

Universal themes like Identity, Truth, and Memory are woven throughout. The film forces us to think about who we are. Are we defined by our unreliable memories? Or by our actions? And what is Truth, anyway? What you remember? What you think you remember?

Anyway, I first saw the film at the Strand Theater, an old movie house in downtown Dover, New Hampshire, around the corner from this incredible breakfast place named Jake’s that makes their large omelettes with a dozen eggs and a half pound of bacon. Dover is part of the New Hampshire Seacoast, even though it does not touch the ocean (but a couple of rivers run right through it). It borders Maine to the east and just south is the trendy and very expensive Portsmouth. Dover is also home to a lot of college students, because New Hampshire’s largest school, UNH, is a stone’s throw away in Durham.

The Strand opened in 1919 (think about how old that is) and was the first movie theater in New Hampshire to play a talkie. When I went there decades ago, the weight of history was palpable, and it was a cool place to see a movie, for sure. I didn’t see Memento in the larger room reserved for bigger movies, but rather a little screening room off to the side. The chipped paint, dirty carpet, and missing lightbulbs made it charming. It was so intimate and private. I’d never seen a movie in such a place, and the ambience smelled of ghosts.

I went with my older sister Lisa. She was living the college life in Dover at the time, in a run-down, second floor apartment with her boyfriend Ken and their friend TJ. They were good dudes. And giant—Ken was six feet eight and TJ was a body builder with bulbous stovepipes for arms. They owned a ferret that stunk, so we decided to go to a movie while TJ tried to bathe him. Have you ever bathed a ferret? It ain’t easy.

Lisa was five years older, and there are a lot of movies we shared before she unexpectedly passed away in 2021. We watched and loved a lot of horror movies, which I talk about in my book, but she was also a fan of crime and action thrillers. She had a math brain, and figuring stuff out was her strong suit. Shows like CSI and Law and Order were in her wheelhouse. So it’s no surprise she found Memento intriguing.

I’m sorry. Wait. I have to stop here.

I’m in the wrong memory.

Remember when I said memory is unreliable?

For years, and up until I started writing this piece, when thinking about Memento, I was transported to the Strand. I have a very specific memory of seeing that specific film in that specific place. Movies and memoir go hand in hand for me, so as I was excavating my thoughts on the film, I realized it was actually impossible for me to have seen Memento at the Strand. Memento was released in 2000 (wide theatrical in 2001), and neither my sister nor I were anywhere near Dover, New Hampshire at that time. I was living the starving artist life in New York City, and Lisa was teaching middle schoolers in California.

But as Leonard says in the film, “Memory can change the shape of a room or the color of a car. It’s an interpretation, not a record. Memories can be changed or distorted.”

This memory is not about Memento at all. It’s actually about the film Se7en. You know, the one about Brad Pitt and Morgan Freeman tracking down a seven deadly sins serial killer? Directed by David Fincher? I also remember seeing that film at the Strand. As it turns out, it’s the only film I’ve seen there.

In researching my mind and looking at my life timeline, I’m brought to the fall of 1995. I was a freshman in college, studying film and theater. I made some friends in both departments, but I was quite lonesome. I did not adjust well to college life—I was homesick and seriously thought about dropping out. I went home (or elsewhere) on weekends whenever I could.

Lisa was a junior at UNH, living in that apartment I described earlier. We talked on the phone often, and she knew how hard of a time I was having, so one weekend she paid for a ticket and I made the two hour bus ride to Dover. It was a very chill weekend. We played Trivial Pursuit, ate at Jake’s, and went to the Strand to see Se7en. Bleak movie, but it somehow made me feel better. The next morning she gave me a huge hug and gave me some words of encouragement and sent me back on the bus.

Now, that’s a nice memory. One that I’ve always cherished, but it probably didn’t quite happen like that. It was thirty years ago and I really only remember flashes, so I’m filling in the gaps to create a narrative. And then if you tell yourself something enough times, it becomes fact. It’s like Teddy, the manipulative dirty cop, says to Leonard in the climax of Memento: “Who cares if there’s a few details you’d rather not remember? Like you tell yourself over and over again. Conditioning yourself to remember. Learning through repetition.”

So why have I associated Memento with Lisa and the Strand for all these years?

Who the hell knows? Why do we remember anything a certain way?

Maybe it’s to make sense of complex emotions. As Teddy also says, “lie to yourself to be happy.”

Truth is, I have absolutely no recollection of where I saw Memento or who I saw it with, but when I close my eyes and try to remember, I see that screening room at the Strand and Lisa is sitting next to me. I cannot shake that impossible image. And I can’t ask her, because she’s gone.

What’s plausible, given the timeline, is I flew out for a visit to San Francisco where she was living at the time, and after a day of sightseeing we saw Memento at a cute, quirky theater and had some dinner around Fisherman’s Wharf. That’s a memory that never happened.

Maybe I never even saw Memento with Lisa. Maybe I saw it alone in the East Village in New York City after a night of drinking at the Raven, a bar I frequented with my friends. Maybe I just wished I’d seen it with her, because I knew she’d love it. It’s a crime-puzzle-thriller, her favorite genre. Like Se7en.

Maybe I’m confusing the two films because they both have a cynical ending that explores the futility of vengeance and justice.

Maybe I’m just inserting Memento into that Se7en memory because I’m associating Leonard’s way of coping with the loss of his wife with my own loss of my sister.

Maybe I’m confusing the two because Brad Pitt and Guy Pearce have the same haircut.

Or maybe Memento defies any kind of logic of remembering. Maybe the film transcends memory and like any great art, we make of it what we make of it, and the ultimate Truth is the emotional resonance we attach to it.

Maybe.

Hey! Thanks for reading! Like, comment, and share! Do you have any memories you realized you remembered wrong? Share them in the comments!

Chris Bujold is an occasional improv comedian and community theatre actor, and he teaches English, Film, and Theatre at a public high school in New Hampshire. Once based in New York City, he founded a theatre company before returning to New England, where he has directed and performed with various improv groups. His written work has appeared in Twenty-Two Twenty-Eight, Roxane Gay’s The Audacity, and Wayfarer Magazine. His book, Robot Dreams and Suburban Nightmares, a “cinememoir,” comes out this fall.

Welcome back! Are you ready for some Gen-X nostalgia (I suppose you Millennials too)? If you have no idea what I’m doing here, Parts One, Two, and Three are out in the universe. For now, though, take a look at Robot Dreams and Suburban Nightmares, a Watchlist—Part Four: Talkin’ ‘bout My Generation. This one covers two chapters, mostly about movies from the 90s, when I was in high school and college. You can also learn about my book!

Chapter Eleven: “The Singles Life”

As a disaffected teen seeing the generation-defining film Singles, I realized how much music mattered to me at the time. Through stories of high school bands, I create a picture of the local music scene of New Hampshire in 1992.

Singles (1992) | Directed by Cameron Crowe

Gen-Xers in their twenties in Seattle being Gen-Xers in their twenties.

3 out of 4 Cliffs.

The Last of the Mohicans (1992) | Directed by Michael Mann

Sweeping, epic tale of love and honor amongst the backdrop of the French and Indian War. Daniel Day-Lewis is hunky, and the score is wonderful - my mother would blast it while cleaning the house.

3 out of 4 Beautiful Vistas.

Slacker (1990) | Directed by Richard Linklater

Plotless wandering around Austin, meeting quirky characters talkin’ ‘bout stuff. Truthfully, it’s a little boring, but it’s a landmark movie in the pantheon of independent cinema.

2 out of 4 Madonna Pap Smears.

Wayne’s World (1992) | Directed by Penelope Spheeris

One of the only Saturday Night Live movies to actually be successful, it’s still funny. Just straight up silly, likable characters. Annoyingly quotable; in high school everyone was saying lines from this movie. EVERYONE. And that “Bohemian Rhapsody” scene in the car is iconic.

3 out of 4 Schwings!

Clerks (1994) | Directed by Kevin Smith

A day in the life of convenience store clerks in New Jersey. Filthy, funny, stylized dialogue, but all the characters literally talk the same. It’s Kevin Smith talking to himself for an hour and forty-two minutes.

3 out of 4 Smiths.

Reality Bites (1994) | Directed by Ben Stiller

More Gen-Xers doing Gen-X things. It’s good! But kind of forgettable.

2.5 out of 4 Gen-Xers.

Kids (1995) | Directed by Larry Clark

New York teens get into trouble. One despicable character seduces virgins and there’s also rape. I hate this movie.

Zero Skateboards.

Before Sunrise (1995) | Directed by Richard Linklater

Two characters meet by chance in Vienna and end up walking and talking all night. It’s marvelous and romantic and philosophical. A must see (as are the sequels).

4 out of 4 Romantic Walks.

Mallrats (1995) | Directed by Kevin Smith

Kevin Smith Kevin Smithing all over the place, in a mall. What a nineties time capsule. Jason Lee is very funny.

2 out of 4 Smiths.

Empire Records (1995) | Directed by Allan Moyle

Independent record store employees try to stop a corporate chain from buying them out! Can they do it?! Do you care?! I don’t. There are people my age that LOVE this movie. Not me.

1 out of 4 Records.

The Commitments (1991) | Directed by Alan Parker

Irish people start a soul band in Dublin. Great music! The movie is fine; buy the soundtrack.

2 out of 4 Mustang Sallys.

Judgment Night (1993) | Directed by Stephen Hopkins

Friends run from drug dealers. That’s what it is. That soundtrack, though…every track is a collaboration between a hip hop group and rock band; I bought it just for the song “Another Body Murdered” by Faith No More and Boo-Yaa T.R.I.B.E.

1 out of 4 Estevezes.

Dazed and Confused (1993) | Directed by Richard Linklater

Also known as the movie that launched Matthew McConaughey. Seventies high schoolers, man. Cooooool. Not really my thing.

2 out of 4 Alright Alrights.

The Crow (1994) | Directed by Alex Proyas

The Film Where Brandon Lee Died. It’s a vibe. A rocker that gets brutally murdered comes back to life to exact vengeance. Emo-goth kids worshiped this movie. It’s okay.

2.5 out of 4 Teenagers Dressed in Black.

Pulp Fiction (1994) [see heading under “Lo Mein and a Movie” in Part Three]

Chapter Twelve: “Movies with Friends”

Movies as social activity are important in our lives!

Cabin Boy (1994) | Directed by Adam Resnick

Stupid-funny film about a “fancy lad” that mistakenly ends up on a fishing boat with salty fishermen. Zany antics ensue. It’s considered by many to be amongst the worst films of all time. It is not a “good” film, but it still makes me laugh.

2 out 4 Floating Cupcakes.

Remo Williams: The Adventure Begins (1985) | Directed by Guy Hamilton

A studio’s attempt at making an American James Bond, starring rugged Fred Ward recruited to be a secret agent and mentored by Joel Grey in yellowface. Yikes. It was the eighties. I loved the poster, with Fred Ward hanging from the Statue of Liberty. The “Begins” part implies there were more. There were not. There’s a reason for that.

1.5 out of 4 Statues of Liberty

Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure (1989) | Directed by Stephen Herek

Slackers travel through time in a phone booth in order to pass their history presentation, because if they don’t, they won’t save future Earth with their music. It made sense when I was twelve. Is this movie the birth of Keanu Reeves’ surfer boy drawl?! Maybe. Anyway, it’s silly and fun and Reeves and Alex Winter are incredibly likable.

3.5 out of 4 “Excellents!”

Malice (1993) | Directed by Harold Becker

Nicole Kidman is a sexy femme fatale. Oh, wait…I just gave it away. Sorry. It’s basically a glorified Lifetime Movie^TM. I saw it in the theater over thirty years ago and have no desire to see it again. Unless you want to make fun of it as you watch it. That’s a thing you could do.

1.5 out of 4 Ovarian Cysts

Wolf (1994) | Directed by Mike Nichols

Moody werewolf movie from a prestige director. I really like it! The cast is stacked: Jack Nicholson pisses on someone’s shoes, Michelle Pfeiffer is sexy, and James Spader is a creep. What’s not to love?! When I saw it, I thought Jack Nicholson would be the perfect Wolverine, with his bestial behavior.

3.5 out of 4 Howls to the Moon

The Crow [see heading under “The Singles Life,” above]

The Mask (1994) | Directed by Chuck Russell

Jim Carrey finds a mask and becomes a zoot suit wearing, wise-cracking Looney Tune, but he doesn’t need much CGI because he is an actual cartoon. Cameron Diaz sparkles in her film debut. I instantly fell in love when I saw her. This movie is very me, and I love it more than I should.

3.5 out of 4 Masks

True Lies (1994) | Directed by James Cameron

Arnie leads a double life as an exciting secret agent and boring domestic office drone. Jamie Lee Curtis is his wife missing the spark. Tom Arnold is the funny sidekick. James Cameron flexes his filmmaking muscles. This movie has everything and is incredibly rewatchable. I must stop whatever I’m doing if it’s on and watch it until the end.

4 out of 4 Arnies!

Evil Dead II: Dead by Dawn [see heading under “Suburban Nightmares” in Part Three]

Army of Darkness (1992) | Directed by Sam Raimi

It’s the sequel to Evil Dead 2, but was not marketed that way. After Ash is brought to medieval times through a portal, he must find a way back by fighting “the deadites.” Filled with great lines (“Hail to the king, baby”) and some comic mayhem, it was a favorite of my friends and I in high school.

3 out of 4 Boomsticks.

So I Married an Axe Murderer (1993) | Directed by Thomas Schlamme

Infinitely quotable, little seen cult classic where Mike Myers does his Mike Myers thing. He’s funniest when he plays a “character,” so it drags a little when he’s playing himself. But every scene where he plays his angry Scotsman father is guffaw-worthy. I could watch those scenes on repeat (now that I think of it, I probably have). Alan Arkin (in his two scenes) as the police captain is also great. Amanda Plummer is a bit much. She always is.

3.5 out of 4 Angry Scotsmen

Ace Ventura: Pet Detective (1994) | Directed by Tom Shadyac

Aside from the horribly-aged transphobia happening here (as a major plot point no less), this is the funniest dumb movie ever. This is the liftoff of Jim Carrey into the stratosphere. In 1994 alone, this, The Mask, and Dumb and Dumber came out. Is this the single greatest year of any celebrity’s life? As a teenager that loved comedy, Ace Ventura and Jim Carrey hit me like a piano falling on my head. This was the greatest movie of all time! I saw it several times in the theater. My friends and I quoted it all the time. Even if you don’t think it’s funny, you have to admire Jim Carrey’s full-body commitment.

As a seventeen year old boy? 4 out of 4 Laces Out

Now? 2.5 out of 4 Alrighty Thens

Batman Forever (1995) | Directed by Joel Schumacher

Blech. I kind of liked it as a teenager (well, I liked Jim Carrey), but it’s borderline unwatchable now. Campy, but in a bad way, Joel Schumacher basically took a dump on Tim Burton’s aesthetic and made this, and then the even worse sequel, Batman and Robin. If you want campy Batman in a good way, watch the 1960s television show. The movies? Stick with the Tim Burton ones, then go to the Nolan ones.

1.5 out of 4 Batmobiles

Independence Day (1996) | Directed by Roland Emmerich

Aliens attack Earth and charismatic Will Smith saves the day! Thus began an incredible summer blockbuster run with him. So fun. Bill Pullman (always love that guy) gives a speech at the end as president that still gives me the feels. I used to teach that speech in a Communications class.

3.5 out of 4 Spaceships

Men in Black (1997) | Directed by Barry Sonnenfeld

One year later, Will Smith saves Earth from aliens again! He’s THAT good. My friend James says this is a perfect movie. He may be right. Very funny, action-packed, great effects. Vincent D’Onofrio should have gotten an Oscar.

4 out 4 Edgar Bugs

Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery (1997) | Directed by Jay Roach

Hot Take: Dr. Evil is one of the greatest characters ever put on film. Incredible. Dr. Evil and Austin Powers impressions dominated pop culture for a solid ten years. Sadly, I think this movie has gone forgotten. If you’re under thirty, do you even know this movie? The sequels are even funnier.

3 out of 4 MILLION dollars

Kids [see heading under “The Singles Life,” above]

Boogie Nights (1997) | Directed by Paul Thomas Anderson

On Brett Goldstein’s podcast, this movie is often said to be objectively the greatest film of all time, the pinnacle of cinema. I think that is overstating the importance of this film, but it is a very good movie about people in porn industry from the late seventies to the early eighties. The entire ensemble is incredible, the filmmaking is virtuosic, the soundtrack classic. I don’t know if it’s Paul Thomas Anderson’s best, but it’s his most fun. I’ve seen it many, many times and it does not get old.

4 out of 4 *ahem* Appendages

Prometheus (2012) | Directed by Ridley Scott

I shouldn’t love this movie about scientists searching for the origin of life out in space, but I do. It honestly makes no sense within the Alien universe. Why is the technology better in the past? Fassbender is awesome as a robot. Idris Elba is great as the captain. The ideas are big. There’s a bro-scientist that doesn’t really believe in science…And there’s some serious body horror stuff that will make you hold your breath. It’s one of the only movies I saw in 3D that I thought made it better. It’s messy and wonderful.

3.5 out of 4 Bro Scientists

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Chris Bujold is an occasional improv comedian and community theatre actor, and he teaches English, Film, and Theatre at a public high school in New Hampshire. Once based in New York City, he founded a theatre company before returning to New England, where he has directed and performed with various improv groups. His written work has appeared in Twenty-Two Twenty-Eight, Roxane Gay’s The Audacity, and Wayfarer Magazine.

For those that are following, I’m taking a short break from my watchlist (movies referenced in my book), with a little personal essay about my life teaching film. Enjoy!

I did not aspire to become a teacher. As a young man, I had sights on becoming the next Robert DeNiro, then later, the next Will Ferrell. Armed with what my father called an “impractical” theatre degree, I spent my twenties “figuring it out,” bartending, performing, and being an idiot. By age twenty-eight, however, I “grew up,” and enrolled in a graduate program in teaching English, and at age thirty-one, I started my career as a high school teacher.

Through sleepless nights, stressful observations, and students taking advantage of a rookie, I taught what I was assigned in my first year: tenth grade English, American Literature, and a theatre class. In grad school I’d developed a film analysis unit and snuck in a few storyboard activities in that first year, but I wanted to teach an entire film analysis class. I minored in Film in college (but I should have just double majored–I was two classes shy of a major), so I took the bull by the horns as a first year teacher and proposed it. And it went through!

The class was immediately popular; there were four sections in the first year of its existence, and it has only expanded. You can’t deny the attraction. A class where we watch movies all the time? Sign me up! And, yes, movies are watched, but I came in hard that first year, hammering classes with essays, so students knew we wouldn’t be “just watching movies.” I have since diversified my assessments because I’ve realized there are many ways to show analytical thinking of a text. Besides, students quickly figure out we are not just watching movies, and as a student once told me, “We like, analyze them.”

Yes! That is the name of the course: Film Analysis!

Over the years, I have learned that a visual text is so much more accessible to diverse learners. Movies offer a gateway to analysis. Students that struggle academically can often “get there” in my Film Analysis class. I am not saying it’s because of me; I just think in our visual media-rich society, students are already well equipped to tackle this endeavor; they just don’t know it yet.

I have also adjusted the curriculum over the years due to some monumental failures—on my part, not the students’. I tried to lean on some real classics early on, like Citizen Kane. I mean, come on! It’s considered by many to be the greatest film of all time! It practically invented modern filmmaking. But students found it booooor-ing. One time, I tried a unit on “bad” films, where we watched the documentary Best Worst Movie, about the cult status of Troll 2; and I taught Ed Wood, and Camp, and when I called Plan 9 from Outer Space the “Citizen Kane of bad movies,” this kid Matt blurted out, “Citizen Kane is the Citizen Kane of bad movies!” And everyone laughed.

Touche.

That’s not to say students shouldn’t eat their vegetables of classic film, but I also want them to stay engaged.

I tried westerns, all with mediocre responses: High Noon (“what’s this black and white crap?”); The Wild Bunch (“why’s everyone so sweaty?”); and my personal favorite, the Cohen Brothers remake of True Grit (“you like this, Mr. Buj?”).

I tried The Stepford Wives as social commentary, but it didn’t fly. I think this was for two reasons: one, the 1970s aesthetic is too foreign for modern teens to handle, and two, the historical context was completely lost on them. That isn’t to say I couldn’t teach more context in relation to the film and dive deep into the history of feminism and the women’s liberation movement, but when I only have 45 days to teach a class, I have to be particular about what I choose to spend time on. The Stepford Wives would work better in a history class or as a companion piece.

I’ve tried, multiple times, Tim Burton films (Beetlejuice, Edward Scissorhands) because his style is so distinct (and I love his movies). I have this great project where students storyboard a fairytale in Burton’s style, but newsflash: Tim Burton is a very acquired taste, liked by very few modern teenagers. Comments like “weird” and “unrelatable” and “stupid” have routinely come out of students’ mouths. I will say, those few that like him, really like him. Same with David Lynch.

But after seventeen years of teaching Film Analysis, I’ve developed a curriculum that I think works as a basic introduction to analyzing movies with a solid variety of films and assessments that students enjoy. Want a peek at the syllabus? Read on, reader!

Unit 1: Analyzing Story with Back to the Future

The most basic element of Film Analysis is story. It’s what students are most familiar with—the “content.” This is different from “form,” the filmmaking itself—the cinematography, editing, sound design (and many others). But that’s for later. First, story.

Back to the Future is considered by many to be the perfect screenplay. No moment is wasted and everything is earned. I teach Three-Act Structure and we look at how tightly written and flawlessly paced it is. Every student loves this movie every time. What I am fascinated by, is for a film that is so grounded in two very distinct time periods (80s and 50s), it’s incredibly timeless. Heh. “Timeless.” Get it?

Unit Two: Cinematic Language and Short Films

If you’re going to teach a film class to high schoolers, you have to teach vocabulary, which always elicits a collective groan. But we just have to get through it. It’s important to have a shared common way to talk about film. I do this through some easily digestible short films.

“Kleingeld” (1999), directed by Marc Andreas-Bochert, 15 mins.

A wealthy German businessman’s interaction with an unhoused man asking for spare change turns sour. It’s not a happy film, and says a lot about social status and human dignity. Things to look for/notice: certain pops of color in a desaturated world, use of low and high angles, use of reflective surfaces, montage as routine, use of music, backlight expressing solitude, a slow motion search through the city, soft light on the unhoused man, and a significant pull focus at the end.

“Passengers” (2002), directed by Joseph T. Walker, 8 mins.

Miserable commuters on the subway have a moment of fun with a feather floating around. It’s a whimsical little film that encourages the audience to appreciate the little things. It’s black and white (why make that choice?), but it is the editing and music working together to create pace that takes center stage.

“El Gran Zambini” (2005), directed by Igor Legaretta and Emilio Perez Perez, 15 mins.

A short-statured, emasculated father connects with his son. There’s a bit of magical realism in here at the end. The mise en scene of broken down, faded circus equipment next to a lonely trailer in a desert landscape is telling, as is the use of high and low angles. There are several shots where the composition is purposeful and are simply beautiful to look at. The lighting at the end when the father returns from the moon is also worth noting.

“Fits and Starts” (2002), directed by Vince Di Meglio, 10 mins.

An absurd look at…something (I have thoughts, but I like to see what people take away). This will get students thinking, and hopefully, talking. It is seemingly nonsense, but I ask them to challenge themselves to really look at it. I don’t have all the answers, but it’s fun. The use of audio, music, props, animation, costuming, and color scheme all work together to make some kind of comment on…things.

Unit Three: Psycho and the Role of the Director

Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho is the master at the height of his powers. It’s his most famous, most iconic, and most successful. It’s also a textbook film, a prime example of how to use the tools of the trade to manipulate an audience, as well as an opportunity to teach the tenets of both shock and suspense. I’ll never not teach it. But it is a bit of a hard sell. Students are vocal when they find out it’s black and white (they get so freaking mad about it!), but I tell them it is intentional; color was invented by this point, but Hitchcock made a choice, and that they should think about why that choice matters. I love watching students watch the film, trying to figure out where it’s going. My favorite reaction recently, when Norman reveals himself, dressed as his own mother, with that maniacal grin, holding that knife, I heard a student say, “Bro…What?”

Unit Four: Genre Study—Romantic Comedy

This is my favorite unit because it is so versatile—there are so many options, and I mix it up a lot. The goal of the unit is to break down the tropes and conventions of the genre with two films: one that follows the formula (When Harry Met Sally, The Wedding Singer, Hitch, or a million others), and one that subverts it (They Came Together, Isn’t it Romantic, or 500 Days of Summer). In the end, students create their own rom-com plot and write a one-scene screenplay from that plot. It’s fun and creative.

Unit Five: Genre Study—Film Noir

I saw Double Indemnity in a film noir class in college, and I immediately fell in love. The inky black darkness, the witty, stylized dialogue, and all that cigarette smoke hit me in a visceral way I can’t quite comprehend now, almost thirty years later. I think it’s a genre (although, many argue it is not a genre, but a style, or a network of ideas) that is woven into the fabric of filmmaking in such a way that, in my opinion, makes it the most influential film movement in the history of the medium. I know. Hot take.

This is another versatile unit, like romantic comedy, where I could show a bunch as examples. Double Indemnity is the blueprint, and for a companion piece I’ve used Chinatown, Brick, Who Framed Roger Rabbit, LA Confidential, Memento, and The Batman, all with varying degrees of success. My ultimate goal in teaching film noir is for students to understand how influential the genre is, how aspects of it permeate throughout all genres, and the origins of Batman and John Wick actually go back to black and white films of the 1940s. I assess that by having students choose their own modern noir and create a presentation that breaks down its noirness.

Unit Six: Film Criticism and The Shining

Aside from teaching what “Kubrickian” means, the purpose of this unit is to look at film criticism (and some crackpot theories) as a form of research in writing a critical essay. It’s probably the most “academic” or “Englishy” unit I teach. For the record, I do not think Kubrick filmed the fake moon landing.

Unit Seven: Philosophy and Film

This is a bonus unit I teach, if there’s time. I’ve used The Matrix, The Truman Show, Inception, Pleasantville, and/or Groundhog Day as a pathway to talk about Plato, Descartes, and/or Existentialism. I only ever have enough time to scratch the surface of all Western Philosophy, and it usually leaves teenagers scratching their heads, but it gives them some exposure on how to think and talk deeply about film.

I’ll throw in some extras once in a while as filler, or if I want to test drive something. I’ve wanted to do a sci-fi as social commentary unit, a novel adaptation unit, and a “cinememoir” unit, but have never gotten around to it. I keep telling myself, “there’s always next semester.” I’ll get to them eventually. Maybe I’ll document the experience and post it on Substack.

Hey, I love movies. I love literature too (I am an English teacher, after all), but movies have always spoken to me in transcendent ways. I think they are quite possibly the most influential cultural artifacts of our society; they have profound effects on us. It is my goal every year that by teaching film, students become aware of these shared cultural experiences, and maybe gain some critical thinking skills along the way.

What do you think of my units? What’s missing? Any suggestions on films to teach? I’m forever open to trying new things. My way is not the way. Just a way.

See you next week (please come back!) with a continuation of my watchlist—this one mostly about seminal Gen-X films from the 90s.

Chris Bujold is an occasional improv comedian and community theatre actor, and he teaches English, Film, and Theatre at a public high school in New Hampshire. Once based in New York City, he founded a theatre company before returning to New England, where he has directed and performed with various improv groups. His written work has appeared in Twenty-Two Twenty-Eight, Roxane Gay’s The Audacity, and Wayfarer Magazine. And he wants to be your friend.

First, thank you for opening this. It seems my viewing numbers are going down, so maybe people are losing interest. That’s okay! I’m just going to keep doing my thing.

It’s been a weird week. I found out I have to change the title of my book because of copyright worries. I’m sure I’ll write about it soon, but the new title is Robot Dreams and Suburban Nightmares: A Memoir About Movies, Monsters, and a Mom of Steel. Coming in two months and I don’t have a cover yet, and the publisher edit isn’t finished…I’m a little stressed.

Anyway! If you need a primer for what I’m doing here, you can read Parts One and Two…but here’s Robot Dreams and Suburban Nightmares, a Watchlist—Part Three: Adolescent Angst. Three chapters covered in this one, mostly filled with formative horror movies and cartoons.

Chapter Eight: “Suburban Nightmares”

I start with a humorous story about my obsession with late-night B-Movies and Freddy Krueger (which leads to an exorbitant phone bill), but the heart of the piece is about my mother’s alcoholism and my parents’ divorce. The nightmares we face and try to cover up become the connection between film and life.

A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984) | Directed by Wes Craven

The original, genuinely scary, Freddy movie about a scarred serial killer that kills teenagers with his knife glove in their dreams as a form of revenge for being burned alive by their parents. Gruesome. Pretty amazing that Freddy became such an icon: he’s only in the film for seven minutes.

4 out of 4 Knife Gloves.

Student Bodies (1981) | Directed by Mickey Rose

Is it a “good” movie? Not at all. It is, however, the first “horror comedy,” parodying all those slasher movies of the late-seventies and early-eighties. So many sex jokes went over my head when I saw it as an eight-year-old. My sister and I watched it, and it makes me think of her, so therefore, I like it.

2.5 out of 4 Mouth Breaths.

The Slumber Party Massacre (1982) | Directed by Amy Holden Jones

More “horror comedy,” but not as good as Student Bodies. I guess it’s more “horror” than “comedy.” Forgettable. There are some sequels.

2 out of 4 Dead Teens.

Near Dark (1987) | Directed by Kathryn Bigelow

This movie is GREAT, and totally overlooked. It’s a vampire-western-noir-love story about a cowboy seduced by a female vamp that can’t quite finish him off, and he ends up joining her vampire gang. Great acting, cinematography, action sequences; one of Kathryn Bigelow’s best.

4 out of 4 Fangs.

The Lost Boys (1987) | Directed by Joel Schumacher

The other vampire movie of 1987. Also GREAT. Much more splashy and “Hollywood,” starring teen heartthrobs Jason Patric, Corey Haim, and Keifer Sutherland. Not exactly “campy,” but it comes close. I first saw it in the Zelensky’s basement. We instantly loved it.

3.5 out of 4 Fangs.

The Gate (1987) | Directed by Tibor Takacs

Fun, good old-fashioned eighties horror movie about a twelve-year old that unwittingly opens an interdimensional gate in his backyard and releases a horde of demons.

3.5 out of 4 Demons!

Phantasm II (1988) | Directed by Don Coscarelli

I’ve never seen the first one, but this one creeped me out. The best parts involve “The Tall Man” that points and creepily says “Boooooooyyyy!” My dad imitated it a lot. There’s also a flying, silver, metallic spiked ball that kills people. Maybe you don’t need this one.

2 out of 4 Silver Balls.

Evil Dead II: Dead by Dawn (1987) | Directed by Sam Raimi

Even though it’s a sequel, it’s really a remake. You’ve got cult legend Bruce Campbell as Ash versus evil demons in a cabin in the woods, but the real star is the director. Sam Raimi’s inventive camerawork and slapstick sensibility elevates what could have been just another splatterfest. While I liked it as a tween, it wasn’t until high school that my friends and I literally watched it every single weekend, eating snacks, drinking mountain dew and reciting the lines along with the movie, and cheering when Ash says, “GROOVY.” See it.

3 out of 4 Chainsaws.

The Return of the Living Dead (1985) | Directed by Dan O’Bannon

Honestly? One of my all-time favorite zombie movies. This is where “Braaaaaiins” was born. More silly and fun than it is scary, it is without the social commentary that George Romero, THE original zombie director, prefers.

3 out of 4 Zombies.

Nightmare on Elm Street: Freddy’s Revenge (1985) | Directed by Jack Sholder

It’s so different than all the other Freddy movies. The plot holes are abundant and Freddy doesn’t have a personality yet. The gay subtext in an AIDS crisis world is quite obvious now, but at the time, it went way over people’s heads. I actually think it’s worth watching with that lens, but as a movie it’s kind of a stinker.

2 out of 4 Knife Gloves.

Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors (1987) | Directed by Chuck Russell

By far the best of the sequels, there’s so much to love. First, the accompanying music video by heavy metal band Dokken needs your attention. Then go watch the movie immediately. The plot brings Nancy back from part one as an intern therapist helping teens fight Freddy as they are treated at a psychiatric hospital. I think what makes it great is the characters, while a little stereotypical, are fully fleshed out, each with their own “dream powers,” and each of them getting killed creatively. Patricia Arquette (in her film debut) plays Kristen, who can bring people into her dreams. She lives. Phillip, the sleepwalker, gets his tendons pulled out and is then led around like a marionette. Jennifer, the aspiring actress, gets her head smashed into the television (“This is it, Jennifer, your big break! Welcome to prime time, bitch!”). Taryn, the recovering drug addict, gets injected by Freddy’s hypodermic needle fingers (“Ooooooohhhhh, what a rush!”). Will, the nerd in the wheelchair, but can walk in his dreams (“But when you wake up, it’s back…in the saddle…again”), attempts to fight Freddy with his dream-wizard powers, but fails (“Sorry, kid, I don’t believe in fairy tales!”). The movie also sets up some Freddy mythology, like he was “the son of a hundred maniacs.” While the original Nightmare may be the “best,” if you want to know what the franchise really is, watch this movie.

4 out of 4 Knife Gloves.

Nightmare on Elm Street 4: The Dream Master (1988) | Directed by Renny Harlin

More Freddy zingers and murders, as the survivors from part 3 die pretty early, but not before Kristen transfers her dream power to her boyfriend’s sister! Not horrible.

2.5 out of 4 Knife Gloves.

Nightmare on Elm Street 5: The Dream Child (1989) | Directed by Stephen Hopkins

It’s so bad. Unnecessarily complicated plot about Freddy coming back through a fetus. Or something. Not even Freddy’s one-liners can save it. It’s like Freddy has turned into a dad joke. Avoid.

1 out of 4 Knife Gloves.

Freddy’s Dead: The Final Nightmare (1991) | Directed by Rachel Talalay

Freddy’s back, and it’s because when he originally died, some floating dream demons made him immortal. Or something. Okay, objectively it’s terrible. But it’s the only Nightmare I’ve seen in the theater. AND IT WAS IN 3-D. So, for that reason, it’s awesome. Obviously.

3 out of 4 Knife Gloves.

Chapter Nine: “Cartoon Awakening”

This is an embarrassing story involving Ariel and Jessica Rabbit. I feel like I don’t have to say much more than that.

The Little Mermaid (1989) | Directed by Ron Clements and John Musker

This movie is responsible for Disney bouncing back from near bankruptcy and then proceeding to take over the known universe. And it makes me sick. I really don’t like this movie, and I hate how popular it is. From a modern lens, there are quite a few problematic elements: Hyper-sexualized Ariel (and only 16), racial stereotypes, and terrible messaging to young girls (shut up and look pretty). And no, I’m not being “too woke” when I say the recent live-action one is better. I saw it with my daughter and we had a lovely time. So there. Go watch that instead.

1 out of 4 Ursulas.

Who Framed Roger Rabbit (1988) | Directed by Robert Zemeckis

I love film noir. I love cartoons. Let’s mix those two things together! This is one of the greats, people. I saw it in the theater seven times. And my mother brought me every single time, and every single time it was awesome. My mother loved Jessica Rabbit, and recited the line, “I’m not bad. I’m just drawn that way” A LOT. I’ve taught this film to my film class in a unit on film noir and it surprisingly did not go well. Modern-day teenagers do not like this movie. I don’t get it. It’s amazing.

4 out of 4 Ppppppppleeeeeases.

Cool World (1992) | Directed by Ralph Baskshi

There’s really nothing to like about this movie. Brad Pitt plays a detective whose job is to stop cartoons from having sex with humans. What is happening. This is some horny drivel. Stay away.

1 out of 4 Doodles

Lady and the Tramp (1955) | Directed by Clyde Geronimi, Wilfred Jackson, Hamilton Luske

Okay, everybody knows the spaghetti scene, and has probably even tried to suck on a noodle with their loved one. But do you remember “We are Siamese if you please”? That has not aged well. But hey, different time. Despite that, it’s pretty good, albeit dark. Tramp is supposed to get euthanized at the end. Yikes.

3 out of 4 Spaghetti Noodles

Robin Hood (1973) | Directed by Wolfgang Reitherman and David Hand

It’s a fine film. The story of Robin Hood has been adapted to film so many times (according to IMDb, 17), and this one ranks pretty high for me. The animation may be recycled from other Disney cartoons, but it doesn’t make it any less charming.

3 out of 4 Arrows!

Tarzan (1999) | Directed by Chris Buck and Kevin Lima

This movie was a giant smash in the summer of 1999, and it flew completely by me. I must have been preoccupied with what I was doing with my life, as I just graduated college. The music is pretty good, but I’m not a big fan of the chiseled animation. Honestly, I could take or leave this movie.

2 out of 4 Loincloths.

Chapter Ten: “Lo Mein and a Movie”

Christmas Day, 1991. As I reconcile with my parents splitting up, the universe provides a respite in a Chinese restaurant and Beauty and the Beast. This piece was published by Wayfarer Magazine in May.

Beauty and the Beast (1991) | Directed by Gary Trousdale and Kirk Wise

A book smart, fiercely independent woman falls in love with her beastly captor amongst a menagerie of anthropomorphic furniture. Gorgeous to look at. Recommend.

3 out of 4 Lumiere Candles.

A Christmas Story (1983) | Directed by Bob Clark

Arguably the best Christmas movie ever made, about a boy that wants a BB gun for Christmas. If you haven’t seen this movie, you must be an alien.

4 out of 4 BB Guns.

The Addams Family (1991) | Directed by Barry Sonnenfeld

Delightful adaptation of the old television show from the sixties. It put Christina Ricci into the public consciousness! Thing, the disembodied hand is a marvel of special effects, and Raul Julia and Anjelica Huston are fantastic as Gomez and Morticia.

3.5 out of 4 Disembodied Autonomous Hands.

Hook (1991) | Directed by Steven Spielberg

Robin Williams plays a grown up Peter Pan who has lost his magic. Dustin Hoffman plays Captain Hook deliciously. Panned by critics, but I think it’s a nice family movie.

3 out of 4 Hooks.

The Little Mermaid (1989) [see heading under “Cartoon Awakening,” above]

Aladdin (1992) | Directed by Ron Clements and John Musker

Unfortunately, the cultural stereotypes are pretty bad here, too, but Robin Williams’ Genie performance is a tour-de-force, and worthy of awards. Possibly the greatest voice performance of all time.

3 out of 4 Genies.

Mrs. Doubtfire (1993) | Directed by Chris Columbus

Robin Williams in drag, pretending to be a housekeeper in order to spend time with his kids. The premise is implausible and dumb, the slapstick is funny sometimes. I’m not a big fan. But who am I to say? It made A LOT of money.

2 out of 4 Prosthetics.

As Good as It Gets (1997) | Directed by James L. Brooks

Jack Nicholson and Helen Hunt act their asses off (they both won the top acting prize at the Academy Awards) in a romantic dramedy where Jack is 26 years her senior. I know, “age is just a number,” but still, ew. It bothers me. Greg Kinnear as the gay neighbor is also great.

3 out of 4 Jack Nicholsons.

Pulp Fiction (1994) | Directed by Quentin Tarantino

One of the most culturally significant pieces of art of the twentieth century. It literally changed cinema. Tarantino’s second film as director, it intertwines four stories in comic, violent fashion with quirky characters and dialogue. If you’ve never seen a Tarantino movie, start with this one. I can’t say it’s his “best,” but it’s the most “him.” The soundtrack was a staple in my car. The little excerpts of dialogue from the movie between tracks is what makes it really fun. “We’re talkin’ ‘bout one charming motherfucking pig.”

4 out of 4 Bad Motherfuckers.

You’ve Got Mail (1998) | Directed by Nora Ephron

A fine romantic comedy that follows the tropes of the genre. It’s SO nineties. Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan are likeable, and Nora Ephron’s dialogue is witty. It’s sweet. And watchable. But not my favorite.

2.5 out of 4 Hanks.

Toy Story (1995) | Directed by John Lasseter

A spaceman toy and cowboy toy come to life and don’t get along, until they do. It’s an Important movie, in that it’s groundbreaking; it’s the first completely CGI feature-length film ever made. The story and voice performances are terrific, but looking at it now, that animation is clunky. It works for the toys, but the humans are frightening to look at. But you have to admire what it did for animation.

3 out of 4 Buzz Lightyears.

Jerry Maguire (1996) | Directed by Cameron Crowe

It’s a Well-Made Film. Funny, dramatic, clever, and with memorable moments (“Show me the money!” and “You had me at hello”). It’s got all the things. If it’s on, I’ll watch it, but I’m not bringing it to a movie night anytime soon or organizing watch parties. It’s a good movie, okay? I just don’t really care about it all that much. Jeez, leave me alone.

3 out of 4 Tom Cruise Smiles.

If you are steal reading, THANK YOU. Sincerely. next week I’m taking a break from the watchlist with something a little different, so stay tuned!

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Chris Bujold is an occasional improv comedian and community theatre actor, and he teaches English, Film, and Theatre at a public high school in New Hampshire. Once based in New York City, he founded a theatre company before returning to New England, where he has directed and performed with various improv groups. His written work has appeared in Twenty-Two Twenty-Eight, Roxane Gay’s The Audacity, and Wayfarer Magazine.

If you’ve been following along, you know what’s up. If not, here’s the short version: I wrote a memoir about movies, and I’ve created a watchlist that summarizes each chapter and gives snarky reviews of all the movies referenced in the book. You are currently reading Robot Dreams and Suburban Nightmares, a Watchlist Part Two: Becoming a Man.

Apologies for any blatant copyright infringement on film stills.

Chapter Six: “Stand by the Zelensky Boys”

In a series of vignettes featuring some neighborhood boys, I compare my life to the film Stand by Me, as we cause trouble and injure ourselves repeatedly. How long can the bonds of childhood friendship last?

Stand by Me (1986) | Directed by Rob Reiner

Four boys come of age while searching for a dead body. Another one on my list of all-time greatest ever made. It is pure perfection.

4 out of 4 Train Dodges.

Chapter Seven: “RoboCop is My Dad”

Here I look at the film RoboCop as a portrait of my father and our strained relationship. We desperately try to connect through action movies of the eighties, but ultimately fail; accepting that is a hard truth. There’s a lot in this one chapter. Because the eighties were a lot.

RoboCop (1987) | Directed by Paul Verhoeven

Genius satire about a cyborg cop battling corporate America. Reagan’s America. Everything I know about the eighties I learned by watching RoboCop. Highly Recommended!

4 out of 4 ED-209s.

Jeremiah Johnson (1972) | Directed by Sydney Pollack

A mountain man mountains in the mountains, man. The movie is under two hours and feels like five. I’m not a fan of Westerns, but there are a couple I can get behind. This ain’t one of them. Skip it.

1 out of 4 Redfords.

The Outlaw Josey Wales (1976) | Directed by Clint Eastwood

One of the better Westerns out there, with Clint Eastwood doing his cool anti-hero thing. But it just doesn’t resonate with me. If you like Westerns and/or Clint Eastwood, I recommend it.

3 out of 4 Eastwoods.

Fandango (1985) | Directed by Kevin Reynolds

Boomer movie about Boomers doing Boomer things in the early seventies. A group of friends graduate college and don’t know what to do with their lives. It’s fine.

2.5 out of 4 Boomers.

Diner (1982) | Directed by Barry Levinson

Talky people talking. The dialogue was heavily improvised and the result is some of the funniest, most natural dialogue ever put on film.

3 out of 4 Roast Beef Sandwiches.

Once Upon a Time in America (1984) | Directed by Sergio Leone

What a mess. Sergio Leone’s (yes, the famous Italian director of those “spaghetti westerns”) last film, and there are a few versions of various lengths, ranging from two to four-and-a-half hours. I don’t know which version I saw as a kid, but I know I was bored. You’ve got Robert De Niro doing his Robert De Niro thing in a convoluted crime saga that spans decades. The film is considered to be one of the best ever, but I’d rather watch Francis Ford Coppola’s The Godfather (1972) or Martin Scorsese’s Goodfellas (1990).

1.5 out of 4 Noodles.

First Blood (1982) | Directed by Ted Kotcheff

The first of the Rambo movies, with Sylvester Stallone versus the police and government troops in Washington state. Thinly veiled commentary on Vietnam, distrust of the government, and treatment of our veterans. A little ridiculous, but not awful.

2.5 out of 4 One Man Armies.

Rambo: First Blood Part II (1985) | Directed by George P. Cosmatos

Things go off the rails in an absurd plot that involves Rambo saving POWs. When people think of Rambo, this is the movie they think of. It’s dumb.

1.5 out of 4 One Man Armies.

Rocky (1976) | Directed by John G. Avildsen

Rocky is a good movie. It won Academy Awards for Best Director and Best Picture, beating out Martin Scorsese’s Taxi Driver (1976); this is further evidence that supports my theory that “Best Picture” winners are rarely the actual best picture of the year. Regardless, the story of an underdog against insurmountable odds, will almost always resonate with audiences. The famous montage of Rocky jogging through the streets of Philadelphia is iconic but takes hours (okay, it’s only three minutes, but, man, for some reason that seventies pacing kills me).

3 out of 4 Adrians!

Rocky II (1979), Rocky III (1982), Rocky IV (1985) | All directed by Sylvester Stallone (what a renaissance man!)

None of these movies are really any “good,” but I love the hell out of Rocky IV (1985). It’s the Cold War played out as a boxing match. The training montage that juxtaposes Ivan Drago’s high-tech regiment with Rocky’s DIY barn work is gold. AMERICA.

Parts II and III get 2 out of 4 Adrians!

Part IV gets 3 out of 4 Dragos.

Cobra (1986) | Directed by George P. Cosmatos

Ultra-violent crime drama with Stallone playing a supercop who doesn’t play by the rules. Blech. Skip it. The poster is cool, with Sly holding an automatic weapon, wearing aviator sunglasses, and a match sticking out of his mouth.

1 out of 4 Pair of Aviators.

Over the Top (1987) | Directed by Menahem Golan

Stallone as a truck driver that enters an arm wrestling contest. Stupid movie. You’ve wasted 90 minutes of your life if you watch it.

1 out of 4 Muscles.

Missing in Action (1984) |Directed by Joseph Zito

Chuck Norris (RIP) is a Vietnam veteran searching for POWs in this Rambo knock off. The best thing about Chuck Norris are the jokes that are floating out there in the culture-verse, like, “Chuck Norris’ tears cure cancer. Too bad Chuck Norris never cries.”

1 out of 4 Chucks.

Delta Force (1986) | Directed by Menahem Golan

Blah blah blah Chuck Norris blah blah Lee Marvin blah blah elite team blah rescue. Need I say more?

1 out of 4 Chucks.

Firewalker (1986) | Directed by J. Lee Thompson

The only Chuck Norris movie I actually like because Chuck Norris isn’t taking himself too seriously and kind of pokes fun at his action hero persona. Plus, it employs the “buddy-action” formula with Lou Gosset and Norris playing treasure hunters that get wrapped up in an unwitting adventure. I don’t know if I’d say I recommend it, but I like it.

2.5 out of 4 Chucks.

Commando (1985) | Directed by Mark L. Lester

Worth seeing just to see where Arnold Schwarzenegger got his start as the undisputed action movie god. Classic one-liners like, “I like you. That’s why I’m going to kill you last,” and after killing a guy on a plane, Arnie tells a flight attendant, “Don’t disturb my friend, he’s dead tired.” AND SO MANY MORE. See it.

3 out of 4 Arnies.

Raw Deal (1986) | Directed by John Irvin

A step backward for Arnie. Completely forgettable film about…something. Arnold plays an ex-FBI agent that infiltrates the mob for…reasons.

1 out of 4 Arnies.

Predator (1987) | Directed John McTiernan

Arnie’s back, baby! In probably his best film of the eighties, due in large part to director John McTiernan (who would go on to direct Die Hard [1988] a year later), Arnold fights an alien in the jungle. A must-see.

4 out of 4 Arnies!

The Running Man (1987) | Directed by Paul Michael Glaser

I really like this movie even though it’s uneven in its tone. In a dystopian future, Arnie is framed for slaughtering food rioters and forced to participate in a violent game show where silly, American Gladiator-like themed “stalkers” try to kill him. The satirical comment on selling violence on television as a game show is pretty great in concept, but it doesn’t always land here. Still, I recommend it. It’s The Hunger Games 25 years before The Hunger Games. There was a great arcade game in the ‘90s called Smash TV that seemed to be based on this. Don’t fact check me. The new one with Glen Powell and directed by Edgar Wright is also solid.

3 out of 4 Arnies.

The Terminator (1984) | Directed by James Cameron

Inventive, fresh, and original. It’s easy to forget that because it’s been imitated so many times and influenced so many films and has so many goddamn sequels. One could write a whole book on The Terminator universe. But this is the OG time-traveling robot from the future sent to kill the mother of the future leader of the resistance that overthrows our machine overlords movie.

4 out of 4 Arnies.

Aliens (1986) | Directed by James Cameron

In one of those rare cases where the sequel is better than the original (although there are many people that would probably disagree with me), this is my all-time favorite movie, featuring my all-time favorite movie character, Private Hudson, played by Bill Paxton. I still recite all his lines along with him, like “Game over, man! Game over! What the fuck are we gonna do now?!” and “Seventeen days? Hey man, I don’t wanna rain on your parade, but we’re not gonna last seventeen hours!” The film is relentless and there’s never a dull moment. It’s quintessential James Cameron.

4 out of 4 Xenomorphs.

Masters of the Universe (1987) | Directed by Gary Goddard

Frank Langella chews the scenery as Skeletor, which is fun, but the movie is so terrible. Loved the toys and cartoon! WHERE’S ORCO?! They replaced my favorite bumbling, floating mini-wizard with some lame goblin thing. Avoid. I have not, and probably will not, watch the latest reboot.

1 out of 4 Dolphs.

Transformers: The Movie (1986) [see heading under “Transformer Temper Tantrum” in Watchlist: Part One]

Total Recall (1990) | Directed by Paul Verhoeven

Another Verhoeven classic with Arnold as a construction worker unlocking memories of his life as a Martian secret agent. Great visuals and special effects, fun Arnie one-liners (“See you at the party, Richter!”), a hammy villain, plot twists, and mutants. What’s not to like? Avoid the 2012 remake starring Colin Farrell.

4 out of 4 Arnies!

Heat (1995) | Directed by Michael Mann

This movie is so damn good. Epic tale of cop vs. robber with the longest, loudest, awesomest bank heist shootout ever. I saw it at a movie theater in Orlando with my dad, and our ears were ringing when we came out. Conversely, my friend James worked at a movie theater and had to deal with an unruly customer who wanted a refund to this movie because he “couldn’t hear,” and proceeded to tell everybody in line, “Don’t see Heat! Doooooooon’t see Heat!” But you should see it.

4 out of 4 Great Asses.

The Matrix (1999) | Directed by Lana and Lilly Wachowski

Game-changing film that slams the door on the 90s and embraces the new millennium. Keanu Reeves does kung-fu inside a computer simulated dream world because machines have taken over and are using humans as a source of power. Trust me, it’s cool. Mix in some deep philosophical ideas about our sense of reality and perception, and you’ve got an instant sci-fi classic. In my film class, teenagers usually don’t like it all that much, and I’m trying to figure out why. I’ll keep you updated. Anyway, highly recommended, but avoid the sequels.

4 out of 4 Splinters in Your Mind.

That’s quite a list. Can you feel your testosterone increasing? Come back next week for some Adolescent Angst.

Like, comment, share, and subscribe to get updates about the release of Robot Dreams and Suburban Nightmares, coming out later this year!

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Chris Bujold is an occasional improv comedian and community theatre actor, and he teaches English, Film, and Theatre at a public high school in New Hampshire. Once based in New York City, he founded a theatre company before returning to New England, where he has directed and performed with various improv groups. His written work has appeared in Twenty-Two Twenty-Eight, Roxane Gay’s The Audacity, and Wayfarer Magazine.

The movies of the early eighties impacted me in a variety of ways, starting with E.T. in 1982 when I was five (read about that experience here). In my upcoming book (Robot Dreams and Suburban Nightmares, coming soon!), I talk about others, too, like Return of the Jedi, Ghostbusters, Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, Gremlins, and The Last Starfighter. These movies helped shape me, my taste, and my worldview. That’s pretty much the concept of the entire book. But there are other films that have influenced me that I did not talk about in the book. Either I couldn’t find enough meat to warrant a whole chapter, or the fleeting thoughts of a movie memory didn’t work thematically with what I was doing. In my notes for the book, there are several memory flashes of movies that were never fleshed out, so I thought I’d share one of them here.

In the early-to-mid eighties, my aunt babysat me often. I spent most of my time entertaining myself in Auntie’s finished basement, and it became my haven when I was dropped off and told to “find something to do.” Opening the door to the stairs, you were met with original collectible Star Trek plates hanging on the wall. I was never interested in the original series, but I loved Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home, which I saw in a packed movie theater with my aunt, uncle, cousin, and parents. It’s a fond memory.

Even though it was finished, the basement had that distinct musty aroma found in many basements across the globe. Whenever I smell it, I am transported to that white carpeted floor in 1985 (or is it’83? Or ‘84?), playing with an old McDonald’s Playset and reading stacks and stacks of my older cousin’s Star Wars and Superman comics. Or playing “Greensleeves” and “Swanee River” on the upright piano that sat at the bottom of the stairs (“Greensleeves” and “Swanee River” were the only songs I knew, because a little Casio keyboard taught me).

Most of the time, though, I watched movies. Auntie had a bookshelf with dozens of videotapes recorded from TV. VCRs for home use were new at the time, and my aunt and uncle recorded everything and anything they remotely enjoyed. Down there in that basement, I had stumbled upon a secret vault of cinema classics. Looking back, I can see the rows and rows of hand-scrawled labels, with absolutely no context for a six-to-eight-year old to decipher. The only thing to do was to watch them. I don’t remember all of them, but a few stick out, and I wonder if Auntie’s Basement is where my film education truly began.

Them! (1954)—Directed by Gordon Douglas

Unlike anything I’d ever seen before: a black and white atomic-age movie about giant ants attacking. I didn’t find it scary as a child, but damn, I thought those giant ants were cool. After seeing the film, I’d run around Auntie’s backyard, battling ants and pretending to get mutilated, with images of the dead bodies from the movie in my mind. Even still, when I see an ant crawling around, I think of Them! And the effects hold up–those giant ants are impressive!

And the movie is actually good! It’s got a 93% on Rotten Tomatoes. It’s somehow different from other 1950s sci-fi classics. Less campy. Auntie’s Basement is where my love of monster movies started. Them! Eventually led me to Godzilla movies that aired on WLVI during Creature Double Feature on Saturday afternoons, and later Tremors and King Kong. I find comfort in the big monster movies, what else can I say?

Bedknobs and Broomsticks (1971)—Directed by Robert Stevenson

For years I confused this with Mary Poppins. The two films’ visual aesthetic are so similar, and they both involve British women with magical powers looking after children. As a kid, I found it magical and whimsical; I was always a fan of live-action mixed with animation. The movie magic had me transfixed. But upon rewatching recently, I was incredibly bored. I kept waiting for Julie Andrews and Dick Van Dyke to show up. And my God it is loooooong. It’s over two hours! What?! For a kids movie?

HOWEVER. I choose to preserve the memory of this film from my childhood in the amber of my mind: sitting on the floor of Auntie’s Basement, transported to a far off land by a bedknob. And this was the entry-point for a bunch of other movies I loved, ones that blended animation and live-action: The Incredible Mr. Limpet, Pete’s Dragon, and eventually Who Framed Roger Rabbit. As a child, I had aspirations of becoming a cartoonist, and these movies inspired me.

Escape from New York (1981)—Directed by John Carpenter

I was somewhere between six and eight when I saw this movie, and it blew my freaking mind. I had no clue what “dystopia” meant, or what an “anti-hero” was, but this movie set off a lifetime love of that genre and character type. Federal prisoner Snake Plissken, forced to go into Manhattan (a future island prison) to save the president, might be the coolest character ever recorded on film. This movie eventually led me to other Carpenter classics: Halloween, The Thing, and Big Trouble in Little China. I loved the creative, independent sensibility of those movies, and it started in Auntie’s Basement.

Monty Python and the Holy Grail (1975)—Directed by Terry Gilliam and Terry Jones

This was one of the only store bought VHS tapes in Auntie’s Basement, which means it must have meant a lot to her, because tapes in those days were not cheap. It means a lot to me, too. There are two types of people in this world: those who like Monty Python, and those who don’t. I can say without question, if you like Monty Python, we can be friends. If you don’t, we can be friends but I might not completely trust you. My aunt also had various episodes of Monty Python’s Flying Circus, taped from PBS. I’m pretty sure Holy Grail and the show birthed my sense of humor. Absurd and weird, but my God, I still laugh and quote so many moments. I have been for forty years. In my third grade classroom, I was doing silly walks, singing the Lumberjack Song, and saying “nudge, nudge, wink, wink, say no more, say no more,” as well as “I fart in your general direction!”

I was the weird new kid.

But Holy Grail also spawned an obsession with King Arthur stories, as well as other fantasy epics. The Sword in the Stone and Excalibur were favorites, and I was reading The Once and Future King by T.H. White and The Mists of Avalon by Marion Zimmer Bradley at ten-years-old. Tangentially, and I guess Holy Grail-adjacent, were Beastmaster, Conan the Barbarian, Clash of the Titans, and Time Bandits (Terry Gilliam! YES).

All this is to say that I look fondly on Auntie’s Basement: The Birthplace of a Cinephile. My kids and I go to Auntie’s house once or twice a year for donuts, and the basement has changed. The TV has been replaced by exercise equipment, and the videocassettes have been replaced by books. But there is still that smell that takes me back, and I have to smile when my kids start playing with the same McDonald’s playset that entertained me all those years ago. But what’s their Them!? Their Bedknobs and Broomsticks? I don’t think we can know the answer. Nostalgia doesn’t work in the moment. It needs to marinate. So I’ll have to ask them in thirty years or so.

Thanks for reading! Like, comment, share, and subscribe to get updates about the release of Robot Dreams and Suburban Nightmares, coming out later this year!

Subscribe now

Chris Bujold is an occasional improv comedian and community theatre actor, and he teaches English, Film, and Theatre at a public high school in New Hampshire. Once based in New York City, he founded a theatre company before returning to New England, where he has directed and performed with various improv groups. His written work has appeared in Twenty-Two Twenty-Eight, Roxane Gay’s The Audacity, and Wayfarer Magazine.

If you are of a generation raised on eighties and nineties cinema, or are drawn to memoirs filled with nostalgia, then the book I wrote, Robot Dreams and Suburban Nightmares, is for you. It will be out in the fall (you can read about it here). On the surface, the book is a collection of personal essays that uses movies as a springboard to tell stories from my life, but the goal is for readers to walk away thinking of their own relationship with movies and ultimately, with themselves and each other (yes, I’m that cheesy).

Each chapter details my experience with a central film, but the book is chock full of other movie references. As a companion and lead-up to the book’s release, I thought it would be fun to create a watchlist that summarizes each chapter and gives a snarky little review to each film referenced, with a totally subjective and arbitrary rating system (much like my Spielberg rankings). Go watch these and make some memories! (or not - a few are awful)

Over 200 movies are referenced throughout the book, so this will be done in several parts, released weekly-ish. I present to you Part One: Childhood.

My apologies for the blatant copyright infringement on film stills.

Chapter One: “E.T. is for Extra Trauma”

Even though it is widely considered one of the greatest films of all time, E.T. - The Extra Terrestrial terrified me as a child, and that terror has stayed with me through adulthood. In the chapter, I walk through a first person account of my first movie-going experience, reflecting on the formative role movies have on us as children. This piece was originally published by Twenty-Two Twenty-Eight last year, and I republished it a couple weeks ago.

E.T.--The Extra Terrestrial (1982) | Directed by Steven Spielberg

A boy befriends an alien trying to get back home and faceless government goons chase them. Beloved by many and hated by me.

Objectively: 4 out of 4 Magical Bike Rides.

My book, my rules: 1 out of 4 Screeching Monsters (read the chapter to find out why).

Snow White and the Seven Dwarves (1937) | Directed by David Hand

A pretty girl lives with little miners, eats an apple, and falls asleep. First feature-length animated film, with some iconic imagery that has lasted for decades, so I guess it’s “Important,” but I find it boring and Snow White’s voice is annoying. Sorry. Just speaking my Truth.

2 out of 4 Rotten Apples.

Poltergeist (1982) | Directed by Tobe Hooper

Ghosts haunt a house, kidnap a little girl, and scare a family. Faces peeling off, gross tennis balls, an Indian burial ground…Very scary. Directed by Tobe Hooper, but Spielberg’s fingerprints are all over it. Zelda Rubinstein saying “This house is clean” is worth the price of admission alone.

4 out of 4 Clown Dolls.

The Shining (1980) | Directed by Stanley Kubrick

The story of Crazy Jack Nicholson going even more off his rocker in a labyrinthine haunted hotel while Shelley Duvall cries hysterically and a little boy with extra-sensory powers talks to himself is creepy as hell. Do yourself a favor after watching this movie: search up “Shining analysis” and spend a week going down a rabbit hole.

4 out of 4 Redrums.

The Nightmare Before Christmas (1993) | Directed by Henry Selick

From the twisted mind of Tim Burton (but surprisingly not directed by him), Jack Skellington from Halloweentown steals Christmas in the first feature length stop-motion film. Is it a Halloween movie or a Christmas movie? You decide! It spawned a whole aesthetic for many Gen-X artists, including my friend Ray who was the first kid I knew to smoke cigarettes, and later became a tattoo artist. The animation can be a little clunky, but it’s fun.

3.5 out of 4 Skellingtons.

Chapter Two: “In a Neighborhood Far, Far Away”

Here, I use Return of the Jedi to tell a story about a complicated relationship with my first best friend who was also a bully, and in the end the chapter considers themes of redemption and acceptance.

Star Wars: A New Hope (1977) | Directed by George Lucas

While groundbreaking, the story of a farm boy destined for something greater is a little slow in the first half. Hot take: Its legacy is stronger than the film itself. Don’t hurt me! It’s still a very good movie!

4 out of 4 Death Stars.

The Empire Strikes Back (1980) | Directed by Irvin Kershner

Said farm boy from the first movie goes on a spiritual quest with a tiny alien and his friends try to elude the evil empire. And fail. Considered by many as the best Star Wars movie. I have to agree. While as a story it is most definitely “a middle chapter,” it does everything a sequel needs to do: raise the stakes and deepen characters.

4 out of 4 I Am Your Fathers.

Return of the Jedi (1983) | Directed by Richard Marquand

Farm boy has grown up and he and his friends fight the evil empire. Again. This time with the help of cute little tribal bear-things named Ewoks. The Emperor is a deliciously over-the-top villain that I quote often. Because I’m a villain.

4 out of 4 Yub Nubs.

Chapter Three: “Gremlin Vacation”

During a family vacation on Martha’s Vineyard, things get interesting with a boy who reminded me of a Gremlin from the movie Gremlins. The film’s blend of horror and comedy becomes a focus, and how our lives are really a series of genre-switches.

Gremlins (1984) | Directed by Joe Dante

An adorable creature spawns evil monsters that wreak havoc on a small town during Christmas. Lighthearted with some fun scares, I try to watch it every Christmas.

4 out of 4 Mogwai.

Ghostbusters (1984) | Directed by Ivan Reitman

Pretty much a perfect film from comedy legends about three “scientists” (and later, a fourth non-scientist) that bust ghosts. Every time I meet someone named Dana, I say, “There is no Dana, only Zuul!” Some people get it. Many don’t. Still going to keep doing it though. Rick Moranis shines in a supporting role as a nerdy neighbor.

4 out of 4 Keymasters.

Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (1984) | Directed by Steven Spielberg

Prequel to Raiders of the Lost Ark, and famously responsible for sparking the debate on the need for a “PG-13” rating. It’s a little problematic today with its cultural stereotypes. Considered the weakest of the first three Indiana Jones movies (although, my personal favorite), but still a fun popcorn movie that finds Indy searching for “fortune and glory,” this time with a little sidekick named Short Round and Spielberg’s annoying, shrill wife.

3 out of 4 Sankara Stones.

Flashdance (1983) | Directed by Adrian Lyne

The film is essentially an extended music video about a welder-by-day and dancer-by-night with big dreams. The iconic shot of Jennifer Beals arching her back on a chair, in silhouette, with water showering down on her is the best part of the movie, and really the only part worth seeing. Skip the movie, Google the scene.

Movie? 1 out of 4 Welding Masks.

That scene? 4 out of 4 Leg Warmers.

2001: A Space Odyssey (1968) | Directed by Stanley Kubrick

Deep, thoughtful, puzzling, intellectual, gorgeous, and slow as molasses. As a child I saw it as the most boring film ever made, but I have grown to really appreciate it. The film tops many lists of “best of all time,” but it takes time and effort and active engagement to watch it. That’s not a bad thing. Everyone should see it at least once in their life.

4 out of 4 Monoliths.

The Witches of Eastwick (1987) | Directed by George Miller

Jack Nicholson plays the devil and seduces three women who are unknowing witches. Great performances from Cher, Susan Sarandon, and Michelle Pfeiffer. It is also paced really well, no doubt because it is directed by George Miller of the Mad Max movies.

3 out of 4 Horny Little Devils.

Chapter Four: “Cousin Marc and the Star Fight Against the Ko-Dan Armada”

In a story about discovering a sense of adventure, I reminisce about my cousin Marc, his pinball machine, and going to see The Last Starfighter in his badass Pontiac Fiero.

The Last Starfighter (1984) | Directed by Nick Castle

Well-made Star Wars knock-off that hits all the story beats you know and love.

3 out of 4 Beta Units.

Flash Gordon (1980) | Directed by Mike Hodges

Terrible movie based on a comic strip, but the campiness of it all has lifted it to cult status. Songs by Queen, and a memorable duel with whips on a spiked platform over an abyss have kept it in my memory banks. My sister and I loved it back in the day, watching it on TV. Not worth seeing now unless you like bad movies. It’s cool if you do. I won’t judge.

1 out of 4 Ming the Mercilesses.

Krull (1983) | Directed by Peter Yates

More space opera schlock. The only thing I remember clearly from this movie is the Glaive, a five-pointed, retractable-blade boomerang thing used as an awesome weapon. Skip it.

1 out of 4 Glaives.

Superman (1978) | Directed by Richard Donner

There’s a lot working in this Superman origin story, namely, the performances. Christopher Reeve’s performance is a masterclass in acting. The physical and vocal differences between Superman and Clark Kent are so clear, the two personalities appear to be played by two different actors. No question he is the best Superman. Ever. Not even close. And Gene Hackman as Lex Luthor is perfect, as are his two hench-people, Ned Beatty as Otis and Valerie Perrine as Miss Teschmacher. Margot Kidder gives the perfect attitude as Lois Lane and Jack Cooper as Perry White embodies the hard-nosed editor of the Daily Planet. The movie itself? It’s fine. The reversing of the Earth’s rotation at the end is a head scratcher. Confused the heck out of me as a kid. Worth seeing for the performances alone.

3 out of 4 Capes.

Back to the Future (1985) | Directed by Robert Zemeckis

High school slacker unwittingly travels back in time and has to not only get himself “back to the future,” but also get his parents to fall in love because he has altered the time-space continuum. Highly watchable film with the tightest screenplay you can imagine. There are no wasted moments, and literally everything in the first act pays off later. On my list of greatest films ever made.

4 out of 4 Deloreans.

Tron (1982) | Directed by Steven Lisberger

Man gets stuck in a video game. Groundbreaking special effects at the time; it’s a relic now. Go watch the sequel, Tron: Legacy (2010) directed by Joseph Kosinski instead. I find it much more enjoyable, with Jeff Bridges doing his Dude schtick, but older and wiser. The latest one, Tron: Ares, with Jared Leto is an absolute incomprehensible stinker.

Original: 2.5 out of 4 Light Cycles

Legacy: 3 out of 4 Light Cycles

Ares: 1 out of 4 Light Cycles

The Shining (1980) [see heading under “E.T. is for Extra Trauma” above]

Chapter Five: “Transformer Temper Tantrum”

When I saw Transformers: The Movie, I fancied myself “an artist,” and also behaved like a brat. Throughout the chapter, I make revelations about “growing up” and accepting my own deficiencies. It’s the end of childhood for me as this experience transforms me (groan) from child to adolescent.

Transformers: The Movie (1986) | Directed by Nelson Shin

The Autobots wage their battles to destroy the evil forces of the Decepticons. Unless you know and love the toys and cartoon, you most likely won’t enjoy this movie. But I adore it. I bought it on Amazon late one night a couple years ago. I do not regret that decision. It’s better than any of those crappy Michael Bay monstrosities put together. Fun fact: Orson Welles’ last film!

Normal people? 2 out of 4 Junkions.

Personally? 4 out of 4 Hot Rods.

The Secret of NIMH (1982) | Directed by Don Bluth

Don Buth’s first film. It’s dark and mature and about a mouse family that gets help from some highly intelligent rats that have been experimented on. I love Don Bluth’s style, which I really started noticing in the arcade game Dragon’s Lair (1983). An American Tail (1986) and All Dogs Go to Heaven (1989) then put him on a pedestal for me, but I’d outgrown his films by the time he made Thumbelina (1994), and Anastasia (1997). Regardless: Watch all those films. They have heart and the animation is terrific.

All are a solid 3 out of 4 Bluths.

The Care Bears Movie (1985) | Directed by Arna Selznick

I saw this movie in 1985 as part of a birthday party at a movie theater. I didn’t like it then, and I didn’t like it when my daughter found it on some streaming service over thirty-five years later.

1.5 out of 4 Care Bear Stares.

The toys are cute; they get 3 out of 4 Cuddles.

Transformers (2007) | Directed by Michael Bay

All the Michael Bay Transformers movies are horrible. But they make so much money! My opinion must be in the minority. I guess this first one is “the best” of them, but, ew. You’re better off watching the original animated classic.

2 out of 4 Bumblebees.

If you are still reading, you must like something! Do you have any childhood movie memories?

There will be more nonsense next week! Thanks for reading!

Like, comment, share, and subscribe to get updates about the release of Robot Dreams and Suburban Nightmares, coming out later this year!

Subscribe now

Chris Bujold is an occasional improv comedian and community theatre actor, and he teaches English, Film, and Theatre at a public high school in New Hampshire. Once based in New York City, he founded a theatre company before returning to New England, where he has directed and performed with various improv groups. His written work has appeared in Twenty-Two Twenty-Eight, Roxane Gay’s The Audacity, and Wayfarer Magazine.

E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial may have kicked off a life-long journey of trauma for me (read about it here), but Steven Spielberg is still a damn national treasure and an icon. Growing up in the eighties, I saw his name everywhere, almost always attached to something I loved. Moving into my teen years in the nineties and adulthood in the aughts, I consistently looked forward to his movies. He has perfectly balanced commercial success and artistic integrity for over fifty years, and I dare say he is the greatest director of all time and one of the most important cultural figures of the past century. Hyperbole? Maybe. Hear me out.

Jaws. The invention of the blockbuster. My mother (an avid reader), kept the book on our bookshelf and she told me she wouldn’t swim in the ocean for years after she saw the movie. Many people felt that way. Jaws never affected me that way, but the story of three unlikely heroes hunting down a giant shark still hits, fifty years later. Even the apathetic teenagers in my film class like it, year after year. And there was a hit Broadway play about the actors on set. Still relevant! Pretty impactful…

Two years after Jaws? Close Encounters of the Third Kind. Richard Dreyfus makes contact with aliens. It was on TV all the time in the eighties, and it confused the hell out of me. Why’s he playing with his mashed potatoes? Why’s he building a mountain in his living room? Who are all these people? Why does that guy have a French accent? What’s with that synthesizer music? Years later, as an adult on a cross-country road trip, I nearly shit my pants when I saw Devil’s Tower in the distance. I pulled over, flabbergasted that it actually existed. I never knew it was a real place; I thought it was movie magic. After that trip, I made a point to watch the film again, and learned to appreciate it more. And that music at the end used to communicate with the aliens has lived rent free in my head (and now yours) for decades. “Bee-boo, bee boo…”

A slight misstep with 1941, but Spielberg goes on to make Raiders of the Lost Ark in 1981. Indiana Jones looking for religious artifacts and fighting Nazis? A franchise of five films over forty-two years? Amusement park attractions? Video games? Weirdos wearing fedoras as a fashion statement? Yes, please! All those things.

Then comes E.T., waddling into the cinema, and it cemented Spielberg as that aforementioned icon. I may hate it, but the world thinks otherwise. Look, films can be objectively great, but that doesn’t mean I have to like them (just like I can love objectively bad movies, but that’s for another piece). There is no doubt the man knows how to make a movie. He’s a master manipulator. You may see that as an insult, but isn’t that what filmmakers are supposed to do? Make you feel a certain way? Spielberg definitely makes people feel things.

In college, I remember a film professor talking about the trailer for Saving Private Ryan, and in particular, a shot of soldiers emerging from a hill, in silhouette from the dawn as music swells. He then continued, “And all I could think was, dammit, Spielberg, you’ve got me again.”

Spielberg did do it again. And it won him an Oscar for best director, just like Schindler’s List five years before. Both Schindler’s List and Saving Private Ryan are masterpieces, but Spielberg plays the audience like an organ. That girl in the red coat in Schindler’s List? Stop it, Spielberg!

I love Saving Private Ryan, but it is a three hour con job. It opens on the flag (America!) at the Normandy American Cemetery with an old man (Pathos!) at a grave. The camera pushes into his eyes and we are transported to D-Day, as if this is his memory. Specifically, Captain Miller’s (Tom Hanks) memory, because we follow him as he leads his troops into battle. We spend the entire film thinking this is Captain Miller’s memory and he is the old man at the cemetery. A story of triumph!

Spoiler: Captain Miller dies!

But I thought I was watching his story! Isn’t he the old man?! I am so much more sad now!

Then the titular Private Ryan watches Miller die and we watch Matt Damon morph into the old man. It was his story the entire time!

Bullshit!

Spielberg, you’ve got me again!

When The Fabelmans came out, I saw what Spielberg was up to. He wanted to make me feel things. Sometimes, I don’t want to feel things. Sometimes, I want to watch dinosaurs run around, or a shark eating people, or an archaeologist fighting Nazis, so I refused to see it. I didn’t want to be emotionally manipulated. My friend James kept telling me, “Look, it’s good,” but I was having none of it. Then my wife started watching it one night, and I was pulled in. It’s Spielberg’s semi-autobiographical love letter to his mom, and I love my mom. Who doesn’t love their mom? Now I’m crying.

Dammit, Spielberg, you’ve got me again.

That’s why he’s the greatest.

But it raises the question: is he still?

Truthfully, no Spielberg movie from the last twenty years has really resonated with me. That’s not to say they aren’t excellent films. They are well made. They’re “good.” Even at his worst, Spielberg is still good. Like pizza. I didn’t love The Fabelmans, but it’s objectively a great movie. But this isn’t about objectivity. This is about my subjective feelings and opinions.

The only Spielberg film from the last twenty years that I actually enjoy is Ready Player One. I read the book and fell in love, and Spielberg is the only one that could direct that film, with all the self-referential eighties pop culture nuggets. That’s precisely why I like it. It runs on nostalgia fuel, and that’s what keeps me engaged. There are stretches that are incredible, but I will admit, the CGI hurts my eyes. I’m such a fuddy-duddy. Spielberg is winking and nodding the entire time, but it’s a fun popcorn movie.

That brings us to Disclosure Day.

The buzz around the movie has been deafening. I found myself getting very excited. That anticipation in the gut, that yearning, the need to see the movie—I haven’t felt that in a long time. I don’t get to go out to the movies very much—kids, work, motivation, cost—so when I do, it has to matter.

Well, Spielberg matters.

On the first day of my summer vacation (I’m a teacher), at 10 AM on a Wednesday, I took my almost thirteen-year-old son to see Disclosure Day with only three other people in the theater.

And it was good! Better than good. Great? I don’t think so. Plenty has been written about it already, and I agree with all the things: thrilling action sequences, wonderful performances, Spielberg doing his Spielberg thing. Lens flares, soft lighting, camera wizardry; awesome, I get it, Steven. You know how to make a movie.

But I couldn’t help but compare it to his best movies. It is no Close Encounters. It’s trying to be. Really hard. I’d call it a spiritual sequel. My son was just as confused with Disclosure Day as I was with Close Encounters when I was a kid, so time will tell if Disclosure Day will grow to become a classic worth repeated viewings.

All this to say, Spielberg still has it. I definitely like the film more than any other Spielberg joint from the last twenty years. It probably sits just outside my top ten.

Wait a minute. That’s a thought…

How about a Spielberg top ten watchlist? A totally personal, subjective, asinine watchlist. And for shits and giggles, I’ll throw in a completely arbitrary rating system.

I’ll give Ready Player One and Disclosure Day honorable mentions, so I can at least have two choices from the last two decades. You’ve read this far. You might as well keep going…

10. E.T.--The Extra Terrestrial (1982)

A boy befriends an alien trying to get back home and faceless government goons chase them. You have probably figured out at this point what I think of this saccharine horror show. But its cultural impact offsets my personal feelings.

Objectively: 4 out of 4 Magical Bike Rides.

I give it 1 out of 4 Screeching Monsters.

I guess that averages out to 2.5 out of 4 Faceless Government Goons?

9. Schindler’s List (1993)

I mean, I kind of have to put this on the list. It’s An Important Film. Film scholars and critics would probably put it number 1. But I’m not them, I’m me, and I don’t love this movie. I’ve seen it twice in my life, once in high school as part of a field trip (remember, it’s Important), and then again as an adult. I do not need to see it again. I would not call it “rewatchable.” It’s brutal, but an immense artistic achievement.

My irrational rating? 3 out 4 Red Coats.

8. Minority Report (2002)

This neo-noir about a pre-crime detective getting framed for murder is slick and immersive. The near future it predicts is surprisingly prescient, looking at it over twenty years later. Incredible world-building, with the targeted advertising, surveillance and lack of privacy, and self-driving cars…Hm. Sounds familiar. There’s one sequence where spider-robots invade an apartment building that is hold-your-breath intense every single time I see it. The one thing that bothers me is the desaturated, washed-out cinematography. It’s blinding and hurts my eyes. I get it, Spielberg, but it makes it less enjoyable for me.

3 out of 4 Spiderbots!

7. War of the Worlds (2005)

I could flip-flop this and Minority Report, depending on my mood, but I like this one just a little bit more most of the time. They make for a great double-feature. Both have Tom Cruise running (but what movie doesn’t?). It’s a way more sinister, cynical view on aliens than Close Encounters (what if they want to destroy us instead of being pals?). It’s dark. My wife did not like it because she does not like when children are in danger, and Dakota Fanning’s wide eyes haunt her. Tom Cruise’s son bugs me. That character is super annoying. I want to slap him.

3 out of 4 Tripods.

6. Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977)

   

   Aside from The Fabelmans, this is probably Spielberg’s most personal, the most “him;” he has sole screenwriting credit. And it established his style and themes for the next five decades. I had it lower on the list and moved it up after seeing Disclosure Day. Spielberg’s latest made this movie better. Isn’t that interesting? It’s worth seeing once in your life. Devil’s Tower, too. It’s cool.

   3 out of 4 Devil’s Towers.

5. Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (1984)

Okay, it’s problematic, with some cultural appropriation that has not aged well. But it is still my favorite Indiana Jones movie.

“But,” you may be asking, “why would Raiders rank higher?” (At number 3)

Because Raiders is a better film, silly. I told you this list was asinine. But seeing Temple of Doom at seven-years-old was one of the most thrilling experiences of my life. Monkey brains! Gross insects! Minecart rides! Hanging bridge over crocodiles! Incredible. I also used to pretend to rip people’s hearts out while screaming “Kali Ma Shakti de!”

The memory of watching the film clouds the value of the film itself, I think.

3 out of 4 Sankara Stones

4. Saving Private Ryan (1998)

The pure filmmaking on display is incredible. Spielberg is flexing his muscles, but not enough to win best picture at the Oscars (which stupidly went to Shakespeare in Love–I don’t want to talk about it). The plot is simple (find a guy and bring him home, obstacles are in the way), but every scene is a masterclass in filmmaking. I didn’t come to it until several years after it came out, and immediately felt like I had missed out on something monumental. If you get queasy from the sight of blood, maybe skip the first half hour. And whenever a major character dies. I’m docking half a point for that emotional manipulation I mentioned earlier.

3.5 out of 4 FUBARs

3. Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981)

I read somewhere a long time ago that Nazis are the perfect villain, because an audience won’t feel bad if they are killed and there’s a lot of them. Same with zombies. No zombies here, but melting Nazi faces are fun. What can I say? It’s a rollicking action-adventure that’s incredibly rewatchable. It’s a perfect movie.

4 out of 4 Nazi Punches!

2. Jurassic Park (1993)

It’s Spielberg’s highest grossing movie and launched a several-movie franchise, still going over thirty years later. Is there anyone who hasn’t seen this movie? It’s hard to put into words what seeing this movie was like in 1993. It destroyed any idea that CGI couldn’t look real. It still looks great, even better than some of the CGI nonsense you find in today’s movies. Once in a while, movies come along that “change the game.” This is one of them.

4 out of 4 Dinosaurs (obviously)

1. Jaws (1975)

I said what I said about this movie above. I could watch it everyday. Maybe I’d name it my desert island movie. And I’d argue that Robert Shaw as Quint is one of the greatest characters ever to appear on film. AND that “duh-duh” music has been part of the cultural consciousness for over fifty years. It’s just two notes! That’s impressive.

4 out of 4 Ketch Yer Shahks

What’s your favorite Spielberg movie? But don’t think objectively. Go with your gut.

I’m going to leave you now, but not before I quote Quint’s sea shanty:

Farewell and adieu, to you fair Spanish Ladies,

Farewell and adieu, to you ladies of Spain;

For we’ve received orders for to sail back to Boston,

But we hope in a short time to see you again.

Like, comment, share, and subscribe to get updates about the release of Robot Dreams and Suburban Nightmares, coming out later this year!

Subscribe now

Chris Bujold is an occasional improv comedian and community theatre actor, and he teaches English, Film, and Theatre at a public high school in New Hampshire. Once based in New York City, he founded a theatre company before returning to New England, where he has directed and performed with various improv groups. His written work has appeared in Twenty-Two Twenty-Eight, Roxane Gay’s The Audacity, and Wayfarer Magazine.

With Spielberg’s Disclosure Day coming out this week, and my post last week about my book coming out, I thought I’d put the first chapter, about my relationship with the film E.T., out in the universe.

Like! Comment! Share! Subscribe!

Enjoy.

This piece was originally published by Twenty-Two Twenty-Eight in August of 2025.

If you’d prefer to watch/listen, the video is right here! Or continue scrolling to read. Pay no attention to the incorrect title to the book...

E.T. is for Extra Trauma

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!

-Gertie, E.T.--The Extra Terrestrial (1982)

In 1982, at five-years-old, I was a nervous little boy with a bleach blond bowl cut and large front teeth. My mother and father worked in a restaurant (Val, a waitress, and Karl, a cook), and we lived a simple life in a small, pale-yellow duplex on a dead-end street in Hudson, New Hampshire. We had a giant backyard with a rusty old swing set, some woods I loved to wander in, and a little brook where I often splashed around until I stepped on some broken glass that resulted in stitches. Our landlord, a stout, scrunchy-faced, mumu-wearing French-Canadian woman named Pauline (whom my parents called “Pinworm” for reasons I am unaware of), lived on the other side, and she had insufferable, pig-tailed twin daughters named Tami and Tara who constantly harassed and chased me around the backyard, taunting me with chants of “Cutie pie! Cutie pie!” My half-sister Lisa, from my mother’s very young and naive previous marriage, usually came to my rescue to ward off the terrible twins. Five years my senior, Lisa did not get along with my father, whom she unaffectionately—and very deliberately—called by his first name.

My mother bore a resemblance to a young Teri Garr (blonde and fit), and she loved going to the movies. She definitely took me to the movies as an infant—she has told me as much—but the first film I remember seeing “at the Cinema” was Steven Spielberg’s E.T. - The Extra Terrestrial. It seemed like the perfect family film to see, with its cross-appeal and universal praise; it is now widely regarded as a masterpiece. It’s quintessentially “Spielbergian,” blending childhood innocence with danger, fantastic scenarios and effects, and themes of broken families. It’s a cultural touchstone. It’s revered. And it has absolutely become one of the greatest films of all time.

And I absolutely hate it.

We went to see E.T. (and countless other films) in neighboring Manchester at the South Willow Street Cinemas, a multiplex with an expansive parking lot tucked behind a guitar shop and next to a gas station. South Willow Street is the busiest street in Manchester; for two miles, it’s a four-lane state route (28) lined with dozens of restaurants and strip malls. Going there felt like going to a big city because the traffic was a nightmare. You always had to give yourself an extra ten minutes “just in case.”

I clutched my mother’s hand as we walked into the building. Happy, smiling people milled about, murmurs filled the air, the scent of popcorn wafted toward me, and arcade noises bleeped and blooped around us. We had to watch our steps as we traversed the navy carpet with its distinct 1980s pattern of brightly colored shapes, because gum, random popcorn, and spilled soda might make their way to the bottom of your Reeboks. We bought a jumbo tub of popcorn and super-size Twizzlers and snuck in our own sodas. This would become a tradition for us. As we stood in line, waiting for the mulleted teenager to rip our tickets, I spotted the large cardboard cut-out of the now iconic “moon shot” of E.T. and Elliot riding his bike in the air.

What is this even about?

A little overwhelmed as we walked into the packed theater with hundreds of people, I looked up at my mother, and she smiled.

“Isn’t this exciting,” she cooed, and we found seats in the dead center of the theater. My mother to the right, my dad to the left, a Twizzler in my mouth and a bucket of popcorn in my lap, I thought to myself, things are going to be okay. The lights dimmed by half, and trailers for movies I didn’t care about played on the screen. I wasn’t even sure I cared about this movie. My thoughts raced as the lights began to fade, and the movie started…

Why are the lights going out? Where’s the nightlight? I don’t like the dark. What’s happening? I hear music—dreamy, creepy music that sounds like echoes in a cave. Giant words are flashing across the screen, and it’s really dark in here. We’re in a forest with rustling sounds, fog, animals, and—oh my god—what is that inhuman hand reaching for that branch?! Why did the music change? Whose hand was that? Why are there so many cars now? And trucks. And shadows and flashlights and feet and waists—who are these people? What are they doing? Why can’t I see their faces?! And “gross hand” just let out the most terrifying screech I’ve ever heard—the dark ones are chasing him? His friends just got on their spaceship and left him? What is happening?!

The shock and fear from the opening didn’t fade as the film progressed. Elliot inspects a noise in his backyard, and that hand is creeping around the doorframe of the shed. Why are you going into the cornstalks? That doesn’t seem safe. AAAAAAHHHH! What is that face?! It’s so much scarier than anything I could have imagined. I don’t like this!

Why is Elliot laying out Reese’s Pieces? Ugh! E.T. is coming right at me! Don’t come at me, monster!

Why is E.T. purring? Am I supposed to feel comforted by this monstrosity? I’m conflicted about my feelings!

Gertie’s screaming! E.T. is screaming! I’m screaming!

My mother shushed me.

I huddled in my seat and continued watching without incident until E.T. gets sick, gray, and grotesque. The film shifted into full-on horror mode.

Oh God, more faceless government silhouettes walking toward me! Spacesuit men are jumping out from every corner of the house. Please stop. These doctors are poking and prodding, uncaring, and Elliot is crying… But wait—this one man is really kind and gentle, and I can see his face! He wants to save E.T.? Am I supposed to like him? Stop toying with my emotions! Now there’s a thrilling chase through the suburbs. Why do I want E.T. to get away? He scares me. And now they are saying goodbye. This man is there, E.T. is saying, “I’ll be… right… here,” Elliot is crying, my parents are crying, and the whole audience is crying. I’m crying too—but is it because I’m sad or mad or afraid? I DON’T UNDERSTAND THESE FEELINGS.

As the lights came up, my mother wiped away her tears, but she had a big smile on her face.

“Wasn’t that movie wonderful?”

I didn’t know what to say or do, so I just nodded.

“I know. I’m kind of speechless, too,” she said, and picked me up to carry me out to the car.

As if the harrowing experience of seeing that film wasn’t enough, E.T. popped up everywhere. The film broke box-office records all over the globe and pushed more merchandise than Mickey Mouse: E.T. stuffed animals, puzzles, lunchboxes, coloring books, t-shirts, and a famously terrible Atari 2600 game. E.T. even sold candy. Remember those Reese’s Pieces?

While the rest of the world basked in E.T.’s essence, a nightmare greeted me around every corner. Every toy store was a panic attack waiting to happen. Every doctor’s office waiting room had that ugly mug on magazines, taunting me. Every time I opened my closet door, I thought E.T. might be hiding there, stretching his neck, screeching at me. Relatives, thinking any five-year-old would love some E.T. merchandise, gave me trinkets and toys and talked about him constantly.

WHY ARE YOU GIVING ME COLORING BOOKS OF THIS MONSTER?

“They’re going to make a sequel! Isn’t that exciting?“

“What are you going to be for Halloween? E.T.? Ha ha.”

“Oh no, did you get hurt? Oooooouuuuuuch.”

STOP!

It never stopped. Throughout the 1980s: Reese’s Pieces while trick or treating. No thank you. Ten years later: the “E.T. Adventure” ride at Universal. No thank you. Twenty years later: rerelease with a flurry of praising reviews. No thank you.

I realize now what E.T. means to me, and has meant to me since the beginning: trauma. E.T. is for Extra Trauma. And trauma never goes away. Rereleased in 2002 for its 20th anniversary, E.T. had only become more beloved. But mild panic attacks still managed to creep in when commercials ordered me to see the classic again. But you learn to cope; shove those feelings deep down inside. Just ignore; look the other way and move on as time passes. Real healthy stuff.

I’ve had plenty of other traumas in my life through film, most of them before I turned ten:

When the titular heroine in Snow White and the Seven Dwarves runs through the woods and comes across some crocodiles, I started crying hysterically and my cousin Marc had to escort me out of the theater. Logs in water terrified me for several years after that.

Two scenes in Poltergeist took hold of me when I was young (interestingly enough, Poltergeist came out the same year as E.T., produced by guess who: Spielberg). The first is the storm scene, where Robbie, Carol Ann’s brother, counts the seconds between lightning and thunder and the twisted, creepy tree outside his window crashes through and grabs him and tries to eat him while ghosts abduct his sister. It’s harrowing, and I couldn’t look at or go near dead, twisted trees for a long time (even now, every time I see one, I shudder a little).

The other scene is when the clown doll grabs Robbie from under his bed and snakes its arms around him and drags him under. That scene set off a lifetime of terror for me. I even wrote a song in high school called “Kill All the Clown Dolls.”

And let’s not forget about the twins in The Shining. Every time I’m in a hotel and turn a corner I expect to see them, standing there, beckoning me to “come play with” them “forever…and ever…and ever.”

When I had kids, I tried so hard to shield them from experiencing the type of reaction I had with E.T. I wanted to protect them. But it’s impossible.

Recently, I thought The Nightmare Before Christmas would be fun to watch with my children. I hadn’t seen it in a good twenty years but figured it would be fine. Thirty seconds in, my youngest son (five at the time) started screaming after “I am the clown with the tearaway face!”

Whoops. I forgot about that part.

I suppose we have to let these things happen. We all have our “movie we saw way too young.” It’s a rite of passage. But E.T. takes the cake for me, probably because it’s the first film I experienced in theaters.

That’s the impact of movies. They can define us and help form our identities. For good or bad, movies make us who we are. They terrify and traumatize us in ways we don’t expect or aren’t prepared for. But they also teach us about divorce and death and sickness and abuse and bad guys and storms. They teach us about empathy and love and adventure and excitement. They teach us about merchandise, about art, about family, and community. They teach us about life—and about terrifying aliens who just want to go home.

Like, comment, share, and subscribe to get updates about the release of Robot Dreams and Suburban Nightmares, coming out this fall!

Subscribe now

Chris Bujold is an occasional improv comedian and community theatre actor, and he teaches English, Film, and Theatre at a public high school in New Hampshire. Once based in New York City, he founded a theatre company before returning to New England, where he has directed and performed with various improv groups. His written work has appeared in Twenty-Two Twenty-Eight, Roxane Gay’s The Audacity, and Wayfarer Magazine.

I wrote a book.

I am very proud to say, Robot Dreams and Suburban Nightmares (new title), a collection of personal essays exploring life through movies, will be published by Library Tales Publishing later this year.

It’s a memoir about movies and my life, but on a broader scale, it’s about how the movies we watch influence and help shape us. Here’s the publisher blurb:

…a poignant and witty collection of personal essays that utilizes the cultural touchstones of 80s and 90s cinema to explore the complexities of the human experience. Author Chris Bujold weaves a narrative that connects the visceral reactions to childhood films with adult realities of grief, fatherhood, and self-discovery. By treating movies not just as entertainment but as emotional milestones, the book offers a unique lens through which to view a life lived in the glow of the silver screen. Following a period of significant personal loss during the pandemic, Bujold uses this “cinememoir” to bridge the gap between art and introspection. Each chapter invites readers to recall their own cinematic memories and the ‘aha’ moments of their lives. It is a celebration of the universal magic of movies and their power to help us process the most difficult—and the most joyful—parts of our existence.

Sounds professional doesn’t it? My friend Jillian thinks “cinememoir” sounds pretentious. I don’t disagree…But don’t you kind of have to be a little pretentious to be a writer? That’s what years of Hollywood myth has told me, anyway.

Over the next few months, here on Substack, my primary aim is to promote this thing with chapter notes, excerpts, side quests, and supplementals. Today, I thought I’d give some insight to my creative process in “writing the thing” as my friend Hester called it, as well as my publishing journey.

I detail the impetus for the book in my foreword, so I won’t reveal that here, but I’ll say it took me about six months to bang out a rough draft (and I mean rough), and another six months of beta readers, revision, and additions. I have a full-time job, a supportive wife with her own full-time job, three energetic full-time kids, and two rambunctious full-time dogs. That’s a lot of full-time, which means writing took place on over-time. But when something truly means something to you, you find a way to make it happen. Perhaps it’s cliche, but I didn’t want to write it, I needed to.

I’d set my alarm for dawn on the weekends, silently brew a pot of coffee and get a solid couple hours of writing in before anyone woke up. In the lobby of my daughter’s gymnastics class, or the waiting room of my son’s speech appointment, I’d awkwardly use my index finger to type on my phone (my thumbs are not accurate; I’m old). I often chuckled to myself, wondering what people thought of this middle aged man furiously tapping on his phone. They probably thought I was playing some childish game like Toy Blast (maybe I was, sometimes), rather than crafting the next Gen-X masterpiece (I was not, mostly). If the Lady went to bed early, or fell asleep on the couch, I’d dive in, too. I’d save those late nights for editing and wordsmithing while she snoozed away and unfunny late night comedy played in the background.

The words in that initial draft poured out very quickly. I never considered myself a writer, but I’ve always been a storyteller. A performer. I wrote a couple short plays in college, had my share of sketch writing, but it is the years and years of long form improvisation on stage that aided me most, I think. In the midst of writing my book, I kept yes-anding myself. Before I knew it, I’d have five pages talking about butter on my popcorn. And so many tangents. But underneath that was story, call backs, and running motifs, just like a long form improv performance. There was a there there, as they say (did I just reference Gertrude Stein? Maybe I am pretentious).

My biggest hurdle in the beginning was figuring out my narrative voice. Was I writing analytical essays? Short Stories? Some kind of weird hybrid?

Well, yes.

I am by no means David Sedaris, Chuck Klosterman, or Nathan Rabin, but those dudes are definitely my vibe. The best feedback I received in the beginning was “you sound like an English teacher.” A very astute observation, considering that is what I am. But I understood the criticism, and didn’t really want to come off that way. Each chapter is mostly standalone, using a single film as a jumping off point to tell a personal story, and I originally had all this research about movies, quoting reviews and articles, but I eventually realized (thanks to some incredible beta readers) that people enjoyed my story more than my analysis. That was a little difficult for me to accept, because I did not have the confidence in my storytelling. The phrase “Why would anyone care about my story” kept nagging me, but I eventually got there, leaning into blunt, vulnerable honesty. Turns out, people like that kind of thing.

At the urging of a friend, I started sending out individual chapters to literary magazines and querying agents, small presses, and independent publishers. Rejections and revisions, readers and revisions, and then more rejections followed for a year before I finally got a bite, and it was a biggie. Roxane Gay accepted one of the chapters as part of her Emerging Writers series in her newsletter The Audacity. I was quite surprised, and not because I had received countless rejections, but because when one thinks of Roxane Gay, they would not think of me—a middle aged, white, cis, hetero male (can I be any more bland?). I almost didn’t even submit, but there was a sense of openness, reflection, and vulnerability that I saw throughout her publication that spoke to me, and I felt I had that as well.

There’s a lesson in that—one that I knew but will admit, rarely practiced. That lesson? Know what you are submitting to. Take the time to read a little of that publication (it does not take long, really), and try your best to be personal in your cover letter; why would your work fit in?

Does that always work? Of course not, but I’ve been published three times in the last nine months and I was personal in all three of those submissions. Every time I treated a submission like a form letter, I was rejected. Take that for whatever it’s worth.

After The Audacity accepted “A Boy, an Orange, and the Man of Steel,” a piece about my foul-mouthed mother, her battle with a brain tumor, and the Zack Snyder film Man of Steel, it was another seven months before it was even published. But I had a wonderful experience with an editor, who really helped make the piece stronger.

I’ve learned that not every publication does this!

My second piece accepted, “E.T. is for Extra Trauma,” about a horrific experience seeing E.T. for the first time, was accepted by Twenty-Two Twenty-Eight and published within two weeks, with no editorial guidance at all. With such a quick turnaround, it ended up being my first published piece. Fitting, seeing as how it is the first chapter of my book. I will be republishing this piece here soon, so keep an eye out!

Every publication is different. Last month, Wayfarer Magazine published “Lo Mein and a Movie,” a personal essay about my mother and I finding solace in some Chinese food and a movie on Christmas, 1991. They just gave me two months’ notice to publication and told me to tag them. That was that. I got a lifetime subscription as payment, so that’s nice.

I’ve never gotten a solid bite from an agent from over a hundred queries. I got one nibble from an indie publisher that put me in the running, but ultimately declined, and then Library Tales contacted me and here we are. The experience has been eye opening. The timeline for production on the book was estimated at about a year, and we are about halfway through that process. A very prominent author told me, “publishing is slow, but independent publishing is glacial.” It’s true!

But I am not complaining. I’m feeling accomplished and proud and I want to share my work. Maybe people (or you) can find something that resonates. That’s ultimately what I’m after. I’m just a guy trying to make a connection.

Like, comment, share, and subscribe to get updates about the release of Robot Dreams and Suburban Nightmares, coming out the fall!

Subscribe now

Chris Bujold is an occasional improv comedian and community theatre actor, and he teaches English, Film, and Theatre at a public high school in New Hampshire. Once based in New York City, he founded a theatre company before returning to New England, where he has directed and performed with various improv groups. His written work has appeared in Twenty-Two Twenty-Eight, Roxane Gay’s The Audacity, and Wayfarer Magazine.

Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash

I have not been super active on the Substack lately. But I’ve got some exciting things on the horizon, and I’ve been prepping. Expect to see more from me soon!

But today is about poetry.

I have not been one to write poetry since high school (over three decades ago). I wrote a lot of poems and songs back then (most of them terrible), and I thought I was very clever. I once wrote a poem called “Thy Mother,” a sonnet meant to be read in a British accent that was essentially a Shakespearean “your mama” joke. I found a hard copy buried in an old folder recently. I will not be sharing it.

What I am sharing though, are some poems I wrote over the last month. For National Poetry Month, I developed a new unit on Beat Poetry in my American Literature class. I felt inspired, and I’ve also been reading a lot more contemporary poetry as I go down various Substack rabbit holes.

I debated publishing these. I am not confident in my poetry skills. I would never submit them anywhere, but part of having a Substack is just putting yourself out there, experimenting, trying stuff out. So here are a handful of poems I wrote last month. Thanks for reading!

“Grey Day May Day Drizzle”

On a rainy weekend morning, the Lady and I took the kids out on a country drive (we live in New Hampshire) to Parker’s Maple Barn, a quaint breakfast joint that makes their own syrup. It’s very New England. On the way, I was struck by the spring colors and compelled to write this.

Bright green grass blankets the decrepit cemetery 
Pale pink apple blossoms shun the dark brown scraggly tree stump
April showers bring May flowers but do they raise the dead?
Lonely tractor, faded, red, and rusty
He sits on the hilltop
Lording over his farm-country kingdom 
Does he know about the unkempt muddy trail littered with scat?
Long ago, a newborn squirrel died there, abandoned by her mother 
Chirping chirping chirping
No one could hear
Except the hungry, prowling fox
Drizzle dissipates 
Downpour dominates 
Mayday May Day
Run from the rain
Until that colored arch gives you hope

“Laundromat Prison”

Our dryer caught on fire and I was stuck doing laundry in a laundromat for three weeks until we could get an electrician to update the outlet for the new dryer. I haven’t been to a laundromat in 25 years. I do not want to do it again.

Dryer broke
Laundromat bound
Sea of nomads
Searching for lint
I am one
With detergent
Colors and whites
Hypnotize me
Tumble tumble tumble
I stumble on weed smoker’s basket
“Sorry,” I say
Glazed look of contempt invades my soul
Someone lost their underwear
Bright pink on a filthy linoleum floor
I want out of this laundromat prison

“Carnival”

My kids demanded I take them to a carnival that was in town. Afterwards, I read way too much about carnie life. I’m still sorting through my feelings.

Fried dough Diesel assault
Woozy. Blurry. Where’s the Laughing Clown?
A Toothless Face tells a tale of spreading his seed across the universe 
Rainbow bears hang like game
Did they hang themselves?
Vomit Splatter Rorschach test.
I see Jesus amidst the chunks
As I worship at the Neon Church 
Of Screaming Children

“Alphabet Soup”

This is meant to be pretty tongue in cheek. I wrote it while my students wrote their own Beat poems after reading a bunch of Gregory Corso and Allen Ginsberg. I figured I’d give my own assignment a shot.

Hey DOE, from NH to DC or anywhere in the good ‘ol USA 
I can teach the ABCs.
Get your legislation off my SAT, or PSAT
Tearing down DEI and ADA and LGBTQ I have to ask 
Why?
Has ESOL become a T-Rex, extinct, evolved into ELL to hell if I know I’ll teach ELA until I’m in the AARP
Fever Dreams of IEPs and 504s
Running from Education HQ where it’s always TBA or TBD smoking CBD, you can BYOB but make sure to RSVP
WTF
Will the PTA or PTO give me a potato or play bingo or go to Santa Domingo? Where in the world is Carmen Sandiego?
IMHO I know what I’m doing.
Do you?
Can you STEM oh wait it’s actually STEAM can’t forget the arts thanks for the afterthought again WTF
Are you AP or CP or CTE? Are those aligned with CCSS?
OMG, I’ll BRB to take part in my PD, which is ridiculous, TBH
So TIA for the FYI on the K-12 curriculum curriculum curricu-yum yum yum curricul-yuck
What’s the GPA for the ADHD as screamed by the IEP?
Be late to graduate ASAP and contemplate my fate 
You don’t want to have FOMO, you want to scream YOLO
You need an MBA to understand a FAFSA to get your BullShit in Science
What's your third degree? BA, BFA, MFA, or MBA? Or is it your BS BS? Science Shit? Master of Shit Master of the house Master of my domain Master of the students slaving away at their desktop dreams
PhD, not an MD; PhD is for a Phake Doctor with a Ph, a doctor of ideas not medicine. Is it MD for STEM and the PhD for STEAM?
Is my PSA TMI?
Well, call the FBI, because FYI, America needs an EMT, in an ambulance, to the ER, bleeding in an ICU from DIY DOE

IYKYK

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Chris Bujold is an occasional improv comedian and community theatre actor, and he teaches English, Film, and Theatre at a public high school in New Hampshire. Once based in New York City, he founded a theatre company before returning to New England, where he directed and performed with various improv groups. His work has appeared in Twenty-Two Twenty-Eight and Roxane Gay’s The Audacity.

His forthcoming book, E.T. Gave Me Nightmares and the Man of Steel is My Mom, a collection of personal essays exploring life through movies, will be published by Library Tales Publishing.

Germans have often been the butt of the joke. I have no German ancestry, I’ve never been to Germany, and I have never formally studied German, but the language and culture has always found its way to me, usually through some sort of comedy. It started with old World War II Bugs Bunny cartoons making fun of Nazis. Saturday morning cartoons in the eighties still kept these artifacts in rotation when I was a boy. I did not understand the jokes, or even know what World War II was, but I laughed at the funny accent.

My true entrance to German language and culture, however, began with the X-Men. In the mid-eighties, my father invested in a pool hall (an eventual failure), and as a ten-year old, I spent many weekends there perfecting trick shots and drinking soda. Down the street, there was a comic book shop that I frequented, and on a whim I picked up the compilation of “The Dark Phoenix Saga,” an X-Men storyline that played out in 1980. I sat in the back of Snooker’s Pool Room, smoke hanging in the air and the sound of billiard balls breaking around me, reading that masterpiece, mind blown. My only exposure to comics at that point was Cracked, Mad, and Groo, and these X-Men were serious business! Adult characters going through adult problems, with psychological trauma, family dysfunction, and badass powers. This moment ignited a love for comics and these characters, particularly Nightcrawler, a blue, acrobatic, demon-looking hero that could teleport in a cloud of smoke followed by a smell of brimstone. Whenever he disappeared, the word “BAMF!” sprawled across the panel. If I could choose any X-Man power, it would be that.

Nightcrawler became part of the X-Men in the seventies, along with Colossus, Storm, and Thunderbird. Marvel seemed to be injecting diversity into their super team, with Nightcrawler hailing from Germany, steel-covered Colossus from Russia, weather-controlling Storm from Africa, and Thunderbird coming from a Native American reservation. Good on Marvel for trying, but their depiction of these different cultures mostly consisted of throwing in some stereotypes and foreign language phrases. I didn’t really care about any of this as a ten-year old, but I scratched my head at Nightcrawler calling Kitty Pryde liebchen or fraulein. These German words stuck with me, and I found myself using them in my everyday life, yelling ach nein or mein Gott when surprised, or danke instead of “thank you,” or shouting jawohl when asked to do a chore. My parents rolled their eyes at my cultural appropriation. Then I began talking in that silly accent from those Bugs Bunny cartoons. Again: Eye roll.

Making fun of Germans has permeated pop culture for decades, and as I grew older, I laughed at Mike Myers playing Dieter on Saturday Night Live, asking guests to “touch his monkey.” The Broadway musical The Producers has the hilarious number “Springtime for Hitler.” That joke started in 1967 with the original film, revived in the early aughts with the musical, and is still performed today in community theaters everywhere. And then there is the American male obsession with Oktoberfest, with men of a certain age hosting parties, dressing up in lederhosen, eating bratwurst, and chugging beers (I may or may not have attended activities of this nature).

One of my favorite bands in high school, Faith No More, had a B-side song named “Das Schuzenfest,” a warped polka song about a “shooting festival,” sung entirely in German. I memorized it, writing out the lyrics by hand phonetically (this was before the internet). I impressed all my friends with my bastardized knowledge of the German language. I could’ve been fluent; they didn’t know what I was saying. Neither did I, but let’s gloss over that.

In college, I was in a production of Faust that smashed the Christopher Marlowe and Goethe versions together, but the production design had an industrial German influence throughout. I was part of the ensemble of seven little demons, representing the seven deadly sins, and we played all the supporting characters. We shaved our heads, wore rags, and covered ourselves in a greenish-white paste. It was a vibe. The show played in a little black box theater, and behind the audience hung black curtains, and at various points in the night, we stood behind them uniformly reciting German poetry in a harsh whisper. I still remember it, almost 30 years later:

Ihr naht euch wieder, schwankende Gestalten,

Die früh sich einst dem trüben Blick gezeigt.

One of the cast members had a German speaking boyfriend that made a recording pronouncing every word, and I had a hard time memorizing it. It didn’t help that I had no idea what I was saying. Nobody bothered to actually translate it, but I looked it up years later:

“Again you show yourselves, you wavering Forms,

Revealed, as you once were, to clouded vision.”

Whatever that means.

A few years later, back when classifieds existed in a physical newspaper, my girlfriend saw a notice that a company was offering $50 to give up a couple hours and “learn a language.” That sounded great to a couple of broke twenty-five-year olds. We called the number and set up a time to come in and drove to a desolate, unmarked industrial park with a few cars in the lot. We walked in and confirmed our appointment. This company (that I wish I could remember the name of) was testing out their language learning software, a rip-off of the popular Rosetta Stone (which is still around, but other apps like Duolingo and Babbel have taken over). We could choose which language to learn, and we both without hesitation chose German. In my mind, I was already a pro at the German language. Nightcrawler, Faith No More, and Goethe had already taught me everything.

The software walked us through a slideshow of basic phrases and vocabulary, like elefant, junge (boy), tisch (table) and flugzeug (airplane). The only phrase I remember, twenty years later? Ein junge unter einen flugzeug, which roughly translates to “the boy under the airplane.” This will most certainly come in handy if I’m ever in a German airport and I notice a child in danger, about to get run over by a 747. I imagine myself running around, pointing and yelling, “Ein junge unter einen flugzeug! Ein junge unter einen flugzeug!” I’d become a hero to the German people because I saved a child from a horrible tragedy.

I was in an improv comedy group for years, and a classic trope in the improv-world is when characters speak gibberish. The audience laughs at the funny nonsense being said while the characters understand every word, or there’s some silly translation mishap. Comedy! My go-to fake language was always some form of German-gibberish. Germibberish, I liked to call it. German words are fun to say, but it’s even more fun to make them up. Add in some guttural phlegm on k sounds with a touch of anger, and boom, German. I went to Germibberish so much, I literally thought I could speak German fluently.

When I started teaching, the school librarian was a frightening German woman with an intense, icy blue gaze and bad breath. She was a close-talker and a walking stereotype. One time I had a conversation with her about how kids don’t want to use books for research anymore. Her eyes widened, spit gathered at the corners of her mouth, and she said wildly in her thick German accent, “I cannot stand it! Why do we have all these books?! Why don’t we just burn zee books! Burn zee books!”

Heh heh. Yeah. Burn zee books.

The German teacher, let’s call her Frau Wunderbar, had a much different aura than that librarian. She was a little intimidating too, but in a very different way; she was almost too nice, a complete rejection of the German stereotype. Warm, giving, and thoughtful, she was (and still is) one of the most popular teachers at the school. With spiky purple hair and giant glasses, she used to lead a Zumba group for adults after school. I’d see her walking down the hall with a rolled up mat and brightly colored leggings, and she always gave me the most welcoming smile as we passed each other. She doesn’t teach Zumba anymore, but she is still a source of colorful light when she walks in a room.

One afternoon while chitchatting after a staff meeting, I mentioned my history with the German language. She loves to laugh, and chuckled at my silly stories, and when I told the story about that production of Faust, I recited what I remembered, and she laughed again.

“What was that?” she said.

“That German poem. From the play,” I said.

With a quizzical expression on her face, she said, “That’s what you said?”

I sensed something was off. “Yes…why?”

“I don’t know what you were saying, but it wasn’t German. That was gibberish!”

Always one to play it cool, I said, “I like to call it Germibberish. Don’t you like it?”

She then laughed hysterically, and I played it off as if it was intentional.

Good one, me. Germans are the butt of the joke again.

I would like to apologize, es tut mir leid, to Germans everywhere for any emotional harm you may have suffered from reading this. All this comes from a genuine place of love for all things German. Ich liebe die deutsche Kulture!

You may have read this before, because I published it a few months ago and then unpublished it. It just didn’t feel right. Then I sat on it. Then I revisited it and made some changes. I think I’m happy with it now. At least, until I’m not. Anyway…enjoy?

It’s Friday night and The Lady sits on the love seat next to the sliding door to the backyard, scrolling on her phone. Frost fogs the window.

The television blares CNN, our two dogs chase each other, and our two youngest children scream. Something about a cardboard box being used as a time machine. Our oldest yells and stomps around his room with his friends in a virtual world on his headset.

I rub my temples on the couch across the room. The Lady looks over at me. “Take a bath,” she says. “It’s been a rough week.”

“You deserve it.”

“Treat yourself.”

“Bring your book.”

“I don’t take baths,” I say, because, well, of course I don’t. I’m an overweight, forty-eight-year-old father of three. What an absurd notion.

I age-groan as I get up and walk into the kitchen and open the fridge. I am neither hungry nor thirsty, but I eat a string cheese anyway and sneak a gulp from the strawberry-cran juice reserved for The Lady’s special drink.

I sit down at the dining room table surrounded by art supplies and laundry in various states of cleanliness. I open my book, recommended by my school librarian. It’s a heartbreaking memoir about a mom raising a transgender child in a bigoted town in New Hampshire. It’s A Very Good Book, but not a “fun” read. I start to fume as I read about a school board systematically dismantling the confidence and rights of a sweet little girl.

My youngest jumps on my back without notice and yells, “Carry me! Carry me to your bedroom!”

I jerk my body in surprise and he loses his grip and falls. I expect tears, but hear laughter as he jumps up and says, “Let’s do that again!”

“Not now. Daddy doesn’t feel good,” I say to him.

Not exactly a lie.

He frowns and puts on that baby voice that hurts my ears. “But I want to play with you,” he says.

“Yeah?” I say. “And what do you want to play?”

“Hm,” he says as he squints his eyes and brings his finger to his chin, because that’s what people do when they have an idea. “Let’s play ‘Throw Me on the Bed!’ Or ‘Superman!’”

Both of those require a lot of energy on my part. I can’t. I don’t have it in me.

“I can’t right now, bud, alright?”

His face scrunches and he demands, “Why not?!”

His shouts always put me on the defensive, so I plead, “I just can’t. It’s late and I don’t feel good.”

A wave of guilt envelops me. I know that is an unacceptable answer, but I’m cooked. My child cares not about my exhaustion, and crouches into pouncing puma position. Oh boy. This is not going to end well.

“You. Will. Play WITH ME!”

He lunges at me and I jump out of the chair. Evasive maneuvers. Anger turns to elation for him. This is a fun game now.

Not for me. I am looking at a rabid animal that wants to tear me apart. We lock eyes, and start to slowly circle the table. Predator and prey. I fake left and bolt to the bathroom, leaping over a laundry basket. I make it in and quickly lock the door.

Safe.

He pounds the door, screaming, “Daddy! Daddy!” He knocks and knocks and knocks. “Open the door! Open the door! Play with me in your bedroom!”

Hiding in the bathroom is nothing new in my house. It’s an excellent way to avoid familial interaction. The Lady and I both do it. Sometimes I pretend to shit, just so I can have a minute to myself, a moment to think. I look at the tub.

“Uh, I’m, uh, taking a bath,” I say.

Silence.

How did that stop him? Is he still there? Did he give up?

“Hello?”

After a couple seconds, I hear a soft, “Okay,” and the clomp clomp of his feet as he goes to the kitchen.

I did not expect that.

Nothing left for me to do except take that bath, so I plug the drain and turn the faucet to hot.

I need a shave.

I hate shaving, hate my face. It’s the wrinkly bit under my chin, hanging there like a wattle I dislike. That, combined with the bright white of the hairs on my face, remind me of my middle-ageness. I’m blond, so people don’t really notice the gray.

But I do.

I notice.

I used to love looking at my own face. I’d contort my mouth, squint my eyes, become different characters. Now there’s just one character: Tired Guy.

I usually use an electric razor, but it often hurts, ripping out my hair instead of cutting it. But I keep using it, because lathering up and carefully using my Gillette Mach 3 requires too much effort. I’d rather just endure the pain.

I’ve always scoffed at the phrase “self-care.” I’m not one to do such things. Basic hygiene? Sure. I shower, brush my teeth, and put on deodorant. But I also eat garbage, wear wrinkled shirts, and beat myself up.

But this day, it appears I will shave and take a bath. How self-careful of me.

I spray the Barbasol shaving cream on my left hand. It’s a little watery from lack of use. I also forgot to shake it. I rub the aqueous foam on my face.

“Ho, ho, ho,” I chuckle to myself.

I run the water in the sink and wet my razor and start at the ear line and go down. Left side, right side, rinse. Upper lip, rinse. Soul patch, chin, rinse. Then the part I hate most: the neck. Aside from the wattle, I have a protruding mole that gives me a hard time, every time. Have to be careful or I’ll nic it and…shit. Blood.

Moles. I never liked them. I have a few dark brown ones (not protruding, more like freckles) along my jawline and my left arm. In high school once, while getting ready for school, I took a razor blade and tried to cut out the moles on my arm. I was not trying to harm myself, I was not “a cutter.” I made a stupid, spontaneous mistake, which I immediately realized when blood started flowing out at an alarming rate. My mother had already gone to work; nobody home except me and my dog. I ripped a stream of toilet paper off the roll and applied pressure. The red spread on the Charmin, the sting went deep. It took me a while to control the situation, but I was alright. We had no band aids, so I walked to school with a naked wound, and by the time I got to period one it had scabbed over, a glistening two-inch gash the color of merlot on my forearm. It was spring, so I wore short sleeves. I honestly didn’t think anyone would notice, but people asked questions. Feeling stupid, I made up a lie about a cat I encountered on my walk to school and how I went to pet it and it scratched me.

That was over thirty years ago. I think about it as I pat the blood away from my neck mole, and I glance down at my forearm. There’s still a very faint scar.

Hey! The tub is full!

I guess it’s bathtime.

I turn the faucet off. I don’t want to get undressed, but I begrudgingly do. I look in the mirror. I’m thinner than I used to be (thanks, GLP-1), but still have a bloated gut. I think of high school again, when I would starve myself for no good reason, and chew gum to stave off the hunger. I truly don’t know why I did that. I was a little overweight back then, but I don’t remember even thinking about my weight.

I dip a toe.

Way too hot.

I need to add cold water, so I run the spout and use a kids cup from Applebee’s to pour cold water throughout. I slowly put my foot in.

Still scalding, but I grit my teeth and bring my other foot in.

I stand still.

I put my hands against the wall and lean and breathe.

I can do this.

I manage to sit down, but it takes an eternity. The water is still too hot, but I convince myself it’s okay.

It hurts.

I sit in the sting and think to myself, This is not fun.

I think of the frog that doesn’t know it’s boiling.

I think of my book and my phone, both of which are not in this room with me.

I think of my hairy belly and how I don’t understand why it is dark and the rest of my hair is blond or gray.

I think of that piece of molding that is missing and how I told The Lady I would fix it and that was probably a year ago.

I think of the pee on the walls and floor from my sons’ splatter.

I think about my phone again. Why did I come in here so hastily?

I think of baths in movies. Like Nightmare on Elm Street. The Shining. What Lies Beneath. Why do so many horror movies have baths?

I think I’d like a rubber ducky.

I think how foolish I am for thinking I could be a “bath person.”

I feel ridiculous.

Even though I probably have first-degree burns, my body is used to it, so I submerge. When I do so, something essential happens.

The thinking stops.

Nothing in there.

Blank mind.

No noise.

Lungs emptied, I emerge, feeling like I did something wrong. Why do I feel like someone is watching me? I take a deep breath and go under again.

Same thing. It’s transcendent. Like Emerson said, “all mean egotism vanishes.”

I stay under for a long while. I’ve always been good at holding my breath.

Darkness.

A comforting void.

Is this what a sensory deprivation tank feels like?

I come up, sweating.

I decide bathtime is over.

I pull the plug, but I do not get out. I close my eyes, lean back, and let my sweat-water drain around me as I focus on the glug-glug.

Almost empty.

I lay flat on my back and put my feet up on the wall. The drain sips the last drops and I do not move. The bathroom has become a steam room and I am a naked pink middle-aged man in an empty tub. And glorious.

Transformed, I lay on my bed in red, white, and blue flannel pajama pants and Patriots tee-shirt, skin soft yet aching from the boil. What the hell just happened?

My son comes in and jumps up.

“Can you play with me now?”

Sprawled on the bed, I turn my head and look at those bespectacled green eyes and half-tooth smile.

“Sure, buddy. What do you want to play?”

“Superman!”

“You got it,” I say, and get into position, on my back, limbs up, like a cartoon possum playing dead.

He stands on the bed and rests his stomach on my feet while I grab his hands and gently kick my legs up.

There is some swaying as we try to get his balance, and when he is stable enough, I say, “Stretch your arms!”

He does. And with a mile of a smile, he shouts, “I’m flying!”

Yes you are, buddy. Yes you are. I am too.

Chris Bujold is an occasional improv comedian and community theatre actor, and he teaches English, Film, and Theatre at a public high school in New Hampshire. Once based in New York City, he founded a theatre company before returning to New England, where he directed and performed with various improv groups. His work has appeared in Twenty-Two Twenty-Eight and Roxane Gay’s The Audacity.

His forthcoming book, E.T. Gave Me Nightmares and the Man of Steel is My Mom, a collection of personal essays exploring life through movies, will be published by Library Tales Publishing.

Photo by Alexas_Fotos on Unsplash

When my daughter Bee was two, we got a cute little promotional stuffed bear, about seven inches high, at a fairytale festival. She latched onto him immediately and cherished him, as did our dogs, who frequently stole Bear and gnawed on him. That’s how he lost an eye, which we replaced with some haphazard yarn.

Bear went everywhere with Bee and disappeared all the time. We spent many panicked nights frantically looking for Bear before bedtime. At one point, we lost him for an extended period of time, and my wife and I scoured the Internet looking for a replica. Not an easy task, for this bear was part of promotional packages for companies and sports teams to order in bulk. Everything we found asked for orders of 100 or more. We eventually found an exact copy (but with two original eyes) on E-bay, and Bear was back. Of course, shortly after we ordered New Bear, Old Bear showed up in a leaf pile in the yard. Two bears and one daughter.

She loved both equally, and they were essentially interchangeable, and identical (with the exception of that eye). One would go missing, the other filled in. One would be found, the other got lost. Rarely were both gone at the same time. Bee had a habit of scratching each bear in the same spot on the chest with her little fingernail, and eventually the fur scraped away on New Bear and a gaping hole revealed itself. Our dogs could not resist and managed to rip out all the stuffing, leaving a limp shell of a bear. Bee didn’t even mind, and renamed the two bears Flat Bear and Regular Bear.

Regular Bear (the original Bear, the one with one eye made of yarn, and still stuffed) ended up disappearing, never to be found again. Sad, yes, but Bee’s love for Flat Bear increased exponentially. But the love could not keep Flat Bear in her grasp, for he inevitably got lost.

“Loss is a part of growing up,” I condescendingly told her. She accepted it and moved on with her life, and I was impressed by her maturity.

Two full years after losing Flat Bear, Bee, then seven, and unprompted, said she missed Flat Bear. I felt for her. So we decided to make a new Flat Bear from a different stuffed bear she had. We cut a hole in its chest, and pulled out the stuffing. He was smaller and a different shade of brown, but she semi-approved and named him New Flat Bear.

Two days after making New Flat Bear, my wife and I decided to get takeout from Shorty’s, a Mexican Restaurant down the street. As was customary, I asked all three of my kids if they wanted to go along for a ride to pick up the food. They always said no, but I always asked.

However, on this completely random Tuesday in April, my youngest child, let’s call him Cee, just five-years-old, the same age as Bee when Flat Bear went missing, and totally unaware of the History of Flat Bear, said, “YES! I want to come!”

This had never happened before; in fact, Cee usually screamed “NO!” and ran away from me in a huff.

When going out to grab food or run errands, I usually take my wife’s car. It’s an SUV, more spacious, more comfortable. But Cee wanted to take my car, a much smaller, and messier, sedan, because he liked the booster seats; in the other car, he had to sit in a sturdier, proper car seat, but in my car he was “more free.” I rolled my eyes, but acquiesced. I buckled him in and pulled out of the driveway.

Cee had a blast back there. He felt like a big boy. He grabbed a half-empty Poland Springs water bottle next to him and shouted, “Can I play with this?!”

I looked in the rearview mirror at him. “Um…sure. Don’t drink from it though. I don’t know how old that is.”

He looked at it and said innocently, “No, I just want to play with it. Shake it.”

I shrugged. “Have at it.”

He then proceeded to talk to himself and shake the water bottle over and over and over again. It does not take much to entertain a five-year-old.

In the Shorty’s parking lot, there are spaces for “carside,” which I usually took advantage of, but something compelled me to park and go inside, even though bringing a five-year-old into any establishment is a gamble. At any moment things could go South. But I felt lucky that day. And I thought Cee would like all the cool artifacts on the wall.

I unbuckled him, and he still had that half-empty water bottle in his hand.

“Can I bring this in?” he asked.

I didn’t want to risk a tantrum, so I let him bring it into the restaurant.

Our food was not ready yet, so we waited in the lobby. Cee saw a bench with a life-size ceramic bulldog painted in several different bright colors that begged to be climbed on. He went straight for it and handed me the water bottle.

“I don’t want this anymore.”

“So can I throw it out?” I asked.

Cee nodded and climbed on top of the bulldog and pretended to be a cowboy. Thankful that I’d have one less piece of garbage in my car, I looked around for a trash can. Right next to the host stand, I saw a little wastebasket with a black trash bag, and it looked empty, like it had just been changed. I walked over and looked in, and sure enough, nothing in it.

Except…

I noticed one brown, crumpled, furry piece of fabric that looked strangely familiar…

It couldn’t be.

I reached into the trash. My heart raced. I grabbed it.

Flat Bear.

How on Earth…

I looked around, as if I was on some hidden camera television show, half expecting some wacky host to jump out and surprise me. No one. Cee played quietly on the harlequinade bulldog. The bartender in the adjacent lounge poured some beers. A couple of barflies sat hunched over the bar. Half a dozen patrons ate their tacos and enchiladas in the dining room.

What is happening here?

The hostess came back to her station with a couple menus and checked off some squares on her seating chart.

“Excuse me?” I managed to eek out.

She looked at me with a vacant stare. She couldn’t have been more than seventeen and seemed really thrilled to be working at that moment.

I held up Flat Bear. “I just found this in your trash.”

Based on the creeped out look on her face, I realized I must have sounded like some weirdo that goes around picking through restaurant trash, showing it off to people.

I continued, “I’m sorry. I was throwing this water bottle away and noticed this bear,” I held him up again, “and, I know this sounds crazy, but my daughter lost this bear two years ago.”

She stared at me, mouth half open. The cosmic significance of the moment seemed to elude her.

She responded, in that slack-jawed, teenager way, “I don’t know. That thing has been sitting in our lost-and-found forever. I saw the other hostess going through it earlier. I think she just threw it out.”

The mathematical probability of that moment had to be infinitesimal: On a random Tuesday we got takeout from a restaurant where a hostess just went through a lost-and-found box and threw Flat Bear into a newly changed trash can mere minutes before I showed up.

But I would not have seen Flat Bear if I didn’t have that water bottle, which I only had because Cee unexpectedly wanted to come. If he didn’t, I wouldn’t have taken my car, which had the water bottle in the back seat.

And what compelled me to walk into that restaurant, anyway? I could have easily parked and had a staff member bring out my food.

Everything had to happen in the exact way that it happened for this moment to arrive. The Universe must have demanded Flat Bear be reunited with Bee because so many things could have gone wrong. I am fully convinced there are other universes out there where Flat Bear has not been found and we all have hot dogs for fingers.

Two years sitting in a lost-and-found. How is that even possible?

What if Flat Bear was not in that lost-and-found box under that host stand?

What if Flat Bear had been in another dimension the whole time? A “lost” dimension, where all lost things go? Things like car keys or gloves. Or dolls. And left socks.

And what if objects in The Lost Dimension are sentient, and Regular Bear was there?

And Regular Bear had turned into a grizzled, battle-hardened bad ass that mentors Flat Bear on how to navigate this world?

And this world was actually run by some malevolent lost toy from ancient Mesopotamia, and he had enslaved other lost items in order to feed off their energy to become more powerful so he could escape back to the real world?

And Regular Bear was the leader of the resistance, and through Flat Bear’s Hero’s Journey, Regular Bear had to sacrifice himself in order to get Flat Bear back home?

Note to self: Pitch this story to Pixar.

Maybe that happened. Or maybe Flat Bear sat in a box for two years.

Regardless, when I got home with Flat Bear, I was a champion. The greatest dad in the world. The pure joy and awe on Bee’s face will stick with me for a very long time. My wife, obviously in disbelief, said I should buy a lottery ticket. So after dinner I drove up to the gas station and bought a five dollar scratcher…and won twenty bucks.

I didn’t nearly escape death. I didn’t win a million dollars. But it still felt pretty good to have the universe on my side for one day, even if it was just to make a little girl happy and pocket twenty bucks. And have a good story to tell…

Coming soon? The Adventures of Flat Bear Across the Lost Dimension…

Photo by krakenimages on Unsplash

“Santa Baby” is a piece I wrote last holiday season, while feeling the whips of panic and stress that Christmas brings. Share if it makes you chuckle.

“Are you kidding me? Santa ain’t real.”

Charlie Hendricks was a son of a bitch. Tall and heavy, with dark features and a black curly mop for hair, he stood staring at me in front of the tire swing on the playground at Weston Elementary. He was a second grader only in title, because he should have been a fourth grader since he stayed back. Twice.

Charlie made a habit of walking around the playground during recess, like a lion hunting his prey, taunting groups of kids. My friend Kevin and I had just been minding our own business, going over our Christmas lists we sent to Santa. Number one on my list? Megatron, the head Decepticon that transforms into a gun. Freakin’ awesome.

“You shut up, Charlie! I know he’s real. I believe,” I came back with.

“Ha ha,” he snorted, “You are such a stupid baby.”

“Cut it out,” Kevin said, defending me. I always liked Kevin, but I didn’t need his help.

“Oh, you wanna go Kevvy Wevvy? Let’s go,” Charlie said as he put up his dukes.

I stepped between them, and stood tall. “Leave him alone, asshole.”

I had recently taken up the use of swears, words I heard in my house often.

Charlie grinned. “Look who’s a tough guy. You a tough guy? A tough guy that believes in Santa? You’re a baby too, baby boy. Ba-by! Ba-by! Come on guys,” he gestured to his henchmen to chant along, “BA-BY! BA-BY! Little Eric Nelson is a baby!”

That did it. If there was one thing I hated most in this world, it was being called a baby.

“Raaaaaaaaawwwwwrrrrrggghh!”

I pounced and started wailing while Charlie laughed. I used all my strength, punching and punching and punching, and yet my fists were merely tickling him.

“Alright, baby, that’s enough,” and he picked me up and threw me to the ground. My lungs immediately emptied as I hit the ground. At this point, a crowd started to gather around us.

“Fight! Fight! Fight!”

The chanting echoed in my ears as Charlie got on top of me, his knees on my shoulders. He gave me a couple slaps to the face. I writhed and tried to break free, but he outweighed me by 40 pounds. He brought his face close to mine and whispered.

“Don’t fuck with me.”

And with that, he started punching my face. Repeatedly. And hard. I heard Mrs. Phillips in the distance.

“Hey! Hey! Stop that! STOP THAT!” She pulled Charlie Hendricks off of me and stood between us. “Come with me. To the office. NOW.”

I hung my head in shame and followed while Charlie puffed his chest out and motioned to his cronies high-fiving each other and pointing at him. Shit. Last day before Christmas vacation, and I had to spend the rest of the day in the principal’s office while everyone else watched Rudolph.

Of course, there had been mutterings for weeks amongst my friends that Santa wasn’t real, but that was all in good fun. More of a spirited debate, really. But Charlie, miserable Charlie, who probably has never experienced true joy in his life, was a dick about it. In art class, while everyone made construction paper Santas with cotton ball beards, he thought it hilarious to take red paint, squirt it on everyone’s craft and say, “Santa’s dead, baby!”

Ugh. Shithead.

Naturally, I thought it was possible. I wasn’t stupid. But my mother had always been so adamant that “of course there’s a Santa Claus.” Why would she lie? And that would mean there was a whole conspiracy, and all parents were lying. That’s just ridiculous.

I sat in the office waiting for my mother. Charlie’s father, a large man with a shaved head, sunglasses and a long beard came to pick him up, and when he did, Charlie gave a nod in my direction. Charlie’s dad looked at me from across the room and laughed and then put his arm around his son. As they walked out, Charlie turned around and gave me the finger. Prick. If I was Megatron, I’d blow him away with my arm cannon.

My mother walked into the office with a furrowed brow, looking around for me as she talked to the secretary. Long blonde hair up in a bun, she wore her restaurant uniform, still with the apron. Oh boy. She must have been called out from work to pick me up. The secretary brought me to her.

She gave me the once over and saw the bruises on my face. She shook her head, sighed, and said, “Ready?”

I nodded, and she walked out the door. I followed.

We got into our beat-up blue Chevy Nova with rust spots, and as soon as she turned the key and put it into drive, she let out, “What the hell were you thinking?”

I didn’t dare look at her as she drove. I stared at my feet and shrugged. “I dunno,” I muttered.

“I was supposed to work a double today,” she continued. “It’s Friday night. Oh my God, I’m missing out on so much money. It’s four days to Christmas for Christ’s sake. I hope Christmas can still happen.”

Confused, I looked up at her. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing. Nevermind. What were you even fighting about?”

“I dunno.”

“Well, it must have been something,” she implored.

I blurted out, “Charlie Hendricks is a peckerhead, okay?”

“Watch your mouth!” She paused. She saw how upset I was. “Look, I know. Kids can be dicks. Adults can be dicks. Five times a day I want to punch a customer in the face, but that’s not the way. Kill ‘em with kindness. Got it?”

I nodded.

At that moment, “Carol of the Bells” came on the radio. She turned it up and hummed along. I joined in, and we sang along to other Christmas songs the rest of the ride home.

Later that evening, while my mother prepared dinner, I sat at the kitchen table, playing with my favorite toys, Transformers. Our kitchen was the biggest room in the house, and where we kept our Christmas tree. The room used to be a garage; my father converted it after we moved in the previous summer. The rest of the house was a tiny A-Frame.

My two Transformers, Bumblebee and Starscream, were battling it out. Starscream had the upper hand, obviously, because he was bigger and could fly. Bumblebee was overmatched, much like I was with Charlie Hendricks.

Ugh. Charlie Hendricks. Such a dink.

“Hey Mom?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think Santa will bring me Megatron for Christmas?”

“Was it on your list?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I think Santa will bring it for you. That’s the one that turns into a gun, right?
I nodded. Obviously. Not only did he turn into a gun, but in robot form he had a giant laser cannon on his arm. She went back to making burger patties.

I stared at the Christmas tree. My father, like always, watched the news in the other room. The sound of Peter Jennings’ voice droned on. But as I admired the colored lights twinkling on the tree, and a stuffed pantyhose with a plaid bonnet and googly eyes stared back at me, I started thinking about the logic of this whole Santa thing. We didn’t have a fireplace. We had a wood stove in the basement. How the heck would he get in?

“Mom?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she responded as she grabbed a head of lettuce from the refrigerator.

“How will Santa get in our house if we don’t have a fireplace? And the wood stove is too small for a person.”

Her answer was always the same when I asked such questions.

“Magic,” she replied without missing a beat. She had moved on to cutting a tomato.

“Oh yeah, right,” I said. I usually accepted that without question, but something didn’t feel right this time. “Mom?”

As she washed her hands, without looking at me, she let out a,“Yes?”

“Is Santa real?”

She dried her hands, turned around, and looked right at me. She could tell the question was different this time. I could see her thinking. She walked over and sat next to me. The rainbow of lights reflected on her face and she stared into my eyes, into my soul.

“Do you think he’s real?”

I didn’t know. I had some real doubt after the incident with Charlie. I shrugged.

“Listen,” she said, holding my hands, “as long as you believe he’s real, that’s all that matters.”

That was not a very concrete answer. I needed more. I needed the truth. I took punches to the face because of my belief.

“Mom, be real. Tell me the truth. I ain’t no baby,” I said to her, in a very serious manner.

She started to speak, and stopped herself. I could see the gears in her head working overtime. I think she knew the next few words out of her mouth might possibly be the most important words she’d ever spoken, that they could shape her seven-year old’s thoughts and beliefs for his entire life.

“Santa is real in our hearts.”

Bullshit answer. Tears started to well up, but I kept my composure.

“Mom. I need you to be straight with me. Is. Santa. Real.”

She did a long blink, “Oh, honey. I’m so sorry,” and then paused an eternity. As the lump in my throat grew, she said, “No. There’s no Santa Claus.”

“Nooooooooooooooooooo!”

The trauma-volcano erupted. I heaved. I gasped. I buried my head into my mother’s armpit. The tears flowed.

The illusion had been shattered. All that was good in the world had now crumbled before me. My core belief system: destroyed. And the lies! How could literally everyone on the planet be in on this? How cruel!

My mother held me while I sobbed, and after a few minutes I realized she was the enemy. She’s a part of the system. She’s a part of this grand conspiracy. Sadness and grief morphed into anger and resentment. I pulled away.

“You ready for some burgers?”

What? How could she think about burgers at a time like this? My world was ending!

“NO! LIAR! YOU. ARE. A. LIAR! And this means I probably won’t even get Megatron!” And with that, I ran up to bed and dove under the covers, crying into my pillow.

That night I dreamt of an eight-foot monster Santa chasing me through a mall; around the fountain, in and out of Macy’s, across the food court, and finally cornering me in a K-B Toys, amidst the Transformers. He hovered over me, breathing hard, wheezing. Something looked familiar in his eyes. That wasn’t Santa…

He laughed maniacally and ripped his beard and cap off. Charlie Hendricks! That son of a bitch! He grabbed Transformer after Transformer off the shelves and threw them at me.

“You want your Megatron? Here’s your Megatron! Ha ha ha ha ha!”

I cowered. I shut my eyes and screamed, “Stop! Stop! Stop!”

And then I woke up.

I looked out my window. Snow. And it was the first day of school vacation. Two things I normally would have been excited about. But not this time. Not this time.