Crying at the Movies
I don’t know whether it’s because I’ve been studying theatre for a few years now, or I’m just growing up in my own right, but I can go through old movies I never shed a tear at, emotional as they were, and bawl uncontrollably, at least for a minute, whenever a character faces their particular death. What is the reason that I’m able to empathize leaps and bounds more deeply than me at a younger age? I’ve been working on a Shakespearean monologue for upcoming auditions at my high school. It’s the one from Richard III where Hastings is left alone with two executioners after Richard unjustly sentences him to death on a whim. Hysterical, he recalls how he was warned about this and did nothing, predicts a gloomy future for England under the rule of Richard’s black heart, and finally accepts the fact that he’s going to die in a few minutes, consoled by the revelation that those who want him dead will soon be dead themselves: They smile at me that shortly shall be dead. I was working through the piece last night, and ended up screaming my guts out at the immediacy of my death. Did that make death in the movies more relatable? It helped. Over the last few months, I’ve openly cried at more movies than I ever had previously (it began with The Last Samurai in Mythology class).
