Sad Movies

Making Love

Steel Magnolias

Hello, dear sweet readers. I hope November is bringing you all of the cozy, tender vibes you deserve because currently in muggy Austin, TX I am feeling none of those things. When the temperatures drop and the year begins to wind down, everyone tends to lean into their warm, fuzzy, cuddliness, and I will too, once everyone gets their covid booster and flu shot... Autumn and Winter always inspires and invigorates me, and while I love a cozy film any time of year, this is the perfect time for cozy. I realize that this term means different things to different people. Coziness can come from cartoons—for adults or for children. Coziness can mean action movies with Keanu Reeves or rom coms (with Keanu Reeves). For the majority of the people I know, though, the films they consider to be cozy are, for some reason, often quite sad. I realize that sadness is, too, in the eye of the beholder, but there are plenty of sad films that bring comfort or perhaps catharsis to people. To make a bold, blanket statement, as I often do, I hate sad movies. I like a handful of poignant films, most of them are typically fleeting love stories a la Call Me By Your Name or Portrait of a Lady on Fire—but I do not find these films to be strictly, exclusively sad. If there is enough hope, enough humanity, and enough whimsy within the film, I might even end up loving it. But if a film is objectively, gratuitously, almost deceptively sad? I’m offended. Listen, I know we all heal and feel differently, and that's your right, but the world is so immensely sad, all of the time, that I cannot IMAGINE casually popping on a sad movie. If you want me to watch something sad, you must preface it with the fact that it is sad, you must describe the degree of sadness, and you must tell me what type of sad it is. If it has old people or animals, I’m immediately out. No exceptions, no excuses, no trauma, if I can avoid it. Once, in middle school, I had a friend invite me to the movies. I believe they said we were going to see Yes Man (the second movie ever made with a premise that involves Jim Carey not being able to say no), and they even offered to pay for my ticket. Imagine the face crack I experienced when we walked up to the ticket booth and my friend said “two for Marley & Me please.” Needless to say, I don’t really talk to this friend anymore. I exaggerate, but not much. I don’t wanna watch a fucking dog die! Some friends made me watch The Notebook once, which is probably not even a seven on the sad scale, and I still haven’t recovered. I don’t wanna see old people die! If you’ve ever casually peeped this blog you know how much I adore disgustingly horrific horror films, but I am the biggest, wimpiest, most unapologetically hateful person when it comes to sad movies. All of this being said, this week I decided to reach further outside of my comfort zone than I ever have before: by watching sad movies—the one kind of film that can truly make me uncomfortable and full of regret. I’ve been planning this theme for awhile, but finding the right sad movie is more challenging than finding a good horror film for a scaredy cat. After weeks of researching, asking around, and reading horrendous film synopses, I finally landed on two films that I hoped would not wreck my whole life. Up first was Arthur Hiller’s controversial 1982 drama Making Love, a film about love, sacrifice, and Harry Hamlin’s jawline. I first heard about Making Love in the 1995 documentary The Celluloid Closet—where various talking heads from in front of and behind the camera discuss and reflect upon queer cinema. In the documentary, they talk about how this film about two gay men was so shocking and so bewildering, that it caused audience members to boo and walk out—including the then-president of 20th Century Fox, who produced the film. 1982 as a whole was a significant year for queer stories in film, but Making Love was the first (but not the last, thankfully) mainstream studio movie that covered homosexuality in a kind and considerate way—which, given its release at the beginning of the AIDs crisis, only complicated its reception. Michael Ontkean and Harry Hamlin were all but ousted from Hollywood after this film. It was as if the novelty of the spectacle of two masculine men kissing had worn off, and no one wanted anything to do with either of them. Harry Hamlin, at least, didn’t make another film with a mainstream production studio for nearly 40 years, but Harry, as cool and sexy as he is, says he would do it all again if he could. Making Love is about a heterosexual married couple named Zack and Claire (played by hottie Michael Ontkean and former Charlie’s Angel Kate Jackson), who’s whole world is flipped upside down when Zack meets Bart (the least sexy name for the most sexy Harry Hamlin). Claire and Zack live a happy, healthy, normal life in Los Angeles, but Claire has no idea that Zack is secretly into men. He pokes his head into gay bars and drives up to male sex workers, but Zack never takes the plunge and doesn’t fully explore his sexuality—until he meets Harry Hamlin. [Forgive me if I sound like Lisa Rinna, but I’ll be referring to the actor’s name and not the character’s name because Harry Hamlin is just more attractive than the name Bart allows him to be.] Zack, forever the monogamist, falls head over heels in love with the no-strings-attached Harry Hamlin very quickly, and I can’t say that I blame him. At first, their courtship is chill and friendly. Their conversations were thoughtful and their chemistry felt natural. And even when things become explicit, their relationship remains tender and innocent—as one’s first love often is. My favorite parts of this film were the enlightening and entertaining conversations these two men had—which, even from my perspective—seemed to be fairly accurate for male characters who’d perhaps never spoken about their sexuality so freely. Even though the aesthetic and vibe of this film is giving TV movie, Making Love is surprisingly insightful and shockingly understanding. It handles queer relationships with the same validity and legitimacy as a heterosexual relationship might be handled. Unfortunately, the only version of this film I could find was a shitty recording from someone’s VHS player on Youtube 👀. My viewing experience was fuzzy and blurry, which felt like a hate crime—but it was honestly for the best, as seeing 1980s Harry Hamlin in all of his glory probably would’ve been too much for me. I’ll admit it, Making Love is not THAT sad. Although, when Roberta Flack’s voice starts at the credits of this film, I did feel a lump in my throat. Back in 1982, when the conversations surrounding sexuality and relationships were fairly black and white, I’m sure this film was sad. But watching it in 2022, I couldn’t help thinking that this love triangle could work something out if this were happening today. Nowadays you can be in a throuple, you can be polyamorous, and if I were Kate Jackson in this situation, I wouldn’t cry—I would simply say: awooga. The poignancy of Making Love built up to a happy, even hopeful ending, and while Steel Magnolias attempted to do the same, I’m not sure if it was as successful in easing the sorrows it caused. Making Love represents one side of the female gaze, and Herbert Ross’ 1989 film Steel Magnolias showcases another. It is a film that, as a Southern woman, I am obligated to see. Long before I watched this movie I knew of its superb cast (Julia Roberts, Sally Field, Olympia Dukakis, Shirley MacLaine, Daryl Hannah, and Dolly mf Parton), I knew it was based on a play (by Robert Harling), and I knew of its profound, Southern fried sadness. One of the only ways I could negotiate myself into watching a sad movie was by watching one that I was somewhat familiar with, and yet I was still shaken by it in the end. Steel Magnolias follows a group of strong-willed Louisiana women who are all friends and neighbors, and documents their time together over the course of a few years. The film opens with Sally Field’s chaotic preparation for her daughter’s (Julia Roberts) wedding, the same day that Daryl Hannah’s mouse of a character starts working at Dolly Parton’s salon—where Olympia Dukakis and Shirley MacLaine are regular patrons. The entire first half of the movie is just hilarious and creative shit-talking from this group of women, then right before the hour mark, the film decides to end the fun. Julia Roberts’ character has health issues, and a glaringly bad Southern accent (especially for someone from the South), and even though she’s marrying a young and hot Dylan McDermott and all seemed well, I knew tragedy would strike soon enough. This story felt true, every character felt real, and were this film made today I do believe that Olympia and Shirley’s characters would’ve gotten together. This movie is nothing but uproarious chatter for at least forty five minutes and then it’s just silence. It’s a masterclass in directing, writing, and acting, and it is the poster child for Southern charm and Southern grit. Seeing Dolly cry, was enough to make me lose it. Of course I cried, of course I tried not to, and of course I left this film in a somewhat bad mood. But it’s only because it’s such a well made film, one that I knew would break my heart, but insisted I sit through it anyway. Not a lot of sad films are compelling enough for me to put up with, but thankfully, both of tonight’s films were. I likely will not be rewatching Steel Magnolias anytime soon, but I know that I’ll be watching Harry Hamlin and Michael Ontkean(‘s) Making Love until Youtube pries it from my freshly-manicured fingers. Thanks for crying along with me this week, now pass the tissues. 🤧