I'm Not That Entertained By Entertainment

The Academy Awards nominations were announced this morning, and I might be the only person in the free world who could not possibly care less. I haven’t seen any of the nominated films, and wouldn’t recognize most of the actors if they showed up on my doorstep with a camera crew and a wheelbarrow full of press clippings. I just don’t “do” movies. I think the last one I saw in a theater was one of the Lord of the Rings trilogy, but I couldn’t tell you which one.

In a country that seems to obsess over every word uttered by anyone even remotely connected to the entertainment industry, I am clearly an anomaly. I do not care if Katie Holmes’s baby may have been conceived using frozen sperm from Scientology founder L. Ron Hubbard. I do not care which mentally unbalanced starlet is in the process of having a total meltdown. I do not care if a major Hollywood Box Office Star is feuding with the director of his upcoming movie. I also do not care who is getting married, divorced, arrested or surgically enhanced. None of it will have the eensiest, teensiest impact on any aspect of my life.

I do, however, care just a little bit who has the most gorgeous dress on the red carpet, but I can find that online the next day, if I remember to look.

Why do I have this aversion for all things cinematic? Mainly, it’s because I can’t focus on one thing for that long. Many people boast of being able to “multi-task” at work. In fact, I think every single resume I received for our recent job openings stated this fact, often more than once. Helpful tip for hopeful job applicants: Redundancy is not a desirable trait. Neither is spelling every fourth word incorrectly while you are singing the praises of your “attention to detail.”

For me, multi-tasking extends far beyond my job and permeates every waking moment of my life. My brain demands a constant variety of stimulation from multiple sources. For example, as I am writing this, I am also monitoring the dogs for signs that one of them may be contemplating a sneak-attack on one of his unsuspecting brothers, watching a Today Show story on rottenneighbor.com, drinking coffee, keeping an eye on the clock so I make sure to get in the shower in time for my hair to dry before I have to leave for work, and petting Darwin with my foot. (At least I know where he is, and he’s not barking.)

Movies do not allow me this luxury.

In my admittedly limited experience with theatrical film, I have found that you actually have to pay attention. Otherwise, you miss out on key plot points (such as a raised eyebrow or the millisecond-long flash of a subtle but vital clue) and then have no idea what’s happening for the rest of the movie. For me, this generally occurs in the first six minutes. Plus, movies are so darned loud, and I don’t like loud. If I were to sit in a theater and watch something according to my preferred method, I would quickly be evicted when my Itty Bitty Book Light disturbed nearby film-watchers.

While DVDs offer the option of pausing, stopping, and re-watching any portion of a movie at will, all in the comfort of my own dog-hair-bedecked home, I still don’t do it. First of all, our Big TV downstairs has five remote controls, each with approximately 87 buttons. I have no idea which remotes to use in which order, or which buttons to push, or (more importantly) NOT push, under penalty of death when it takes Tom a half hour to restore the settings I have accidentally reconfigured, causing the surround-sound to stop working and every program to be broadcast in Swahili. Plus, I will still be reading while trying to watch the movie, necessitating my constantly saying things to Tom such as, “Wait. Who’s that guy? Is that other guy trying to kill him? What? He’s already dead? Shit. I am so lost.” Obviously, that gets old really fast. According to him. And learning to do the whole “pause, back up, see that part again” thing feels like too much trouble. This limits my insightful comments to things like, “She should not wear orange. It clashes with her highlights.”

The very few movies I have actually watched in their entirety automatically become favorites, due to lack of competition. They tend to be ones that have hit networks such as TNT or USA and are broadcast on the average of four times a week. Some of these include Dogma, Shaun of the Dead, Twister, A Christmas Story (seasonal, obviously), and, strangely, anything starring John Candy. Watching these old favorites is much less complicated, because I can pick it up in the middle, let my attention wander at any time, and not have to endure suspense of any kind. I have seen Forrest Gump, The Shawshank Redemption, and Rainman, as well as a few other popular movies, but even though I enjoyed them initially, I refuse to watch them again because the drama wreaks havoc on my anxiety level.

I even saw Titanic, and actually own it in VHS format, although I forget why. My interest in the movie was because of my long-standing intellectual fascination with Titanic herself. The ship, not the people or the James Cameron film version. I enjoyed seeing the legendary ship come alive, even if only on a movie or television screen. However, I can’t stand Leonardo DiCaprio, who I thought was creepy as a romantic lead because he reminds me of some sort of elf or gnome.

This entertainment-based attention deficit disorder also applies to hour-long television dramas. I have never seen a single episode of House, Desperate Housewives, Gray’s Anatomy, or any of the assorted CSI programs. I’m simply unwilling to commit. While it’s not technically a drama, I have also never watched an episode of American Idol, because if I did I would have to shove a rusty screwdriver into my brain via my left ear.

On the very rare occasions I watch (and actually like) an hour-long television program, it’s certain to be canceled in two seasons or less. A few years back, I decided I really liked a “Wonder Years” type series called Freaks and Geeks, set in a high school in 1980. It didn’t make it a full season. More recently, I absolutely loved a Showtime series called Dead Like Me. It’s the only thing I’ve ever watched on Showtime (which we only have because it’s included in the basic cable package… we’d never pay extra for it), and it was the height of dark comic genius. It lasted two seasons.

Right now, I actually like the NBC program Chuck. It’s a nice mix of drama and comedy, featuring a boring computer nerd thrust into international intrigue against his will. Plus, Zachary Levi, who plays Chuck, is eleven different kinds of yummy. Oh, not on the show, of course. There, he’s the pleasant-looking nice guy that no one ever really notices, but he always saves the day and never gets the credit. Since I have decided I actually care about the show, it’s likely to be yanked off the air after its first season, assuming we ever get to see the entire first season, thanks to the writers’ strike. The strike might actually be my fault, come to think of it, thanks to my Chuck-liking.

Yet the TV is always on in our house. I need that additional mental stimulation. During the day, it’s the morning news magazines, then I transition into things on Animal Planet or CNN. Later in the day there are the trusty, entertaining, but undemanding re-runs of sitcoms such as Everybody Loves Raymond, King of Queens, and That 70s show.

What I like best, though, are the documentaries on The Learning Channel, The Discovery Channel, National Geographic, and The History Channel. I learn a little bit about a lot of things, as I have these programs on while I read and monitor the dogs.

Last night I enjoyed a two-hour long program on The History Channel about the earth after humans. I even set a reminder for it on the TV in the living room, which only has one remote and is therefore within my technological abilities. Imagine that one day every human on Earth simply vanished. My first thought, naturally, was, “Wait! What’s going to happen to the dogs??? To MY dogs??? Please don’t spend entire portions of this program showing me the undoubtedly gruesome fate of the dogs!” Which, of course, they did. Most dogs would apparently perish in their houses, unable to get out. Those who did escape would have to survive to form a pack. Little doggies would quickly become snacks for bigger doggies, and dogs we’ve bred to have things like short legs or smushy faces wouldn’t have a chance. Other than that disturbing part, the show was really cool, showing how structures would break down, and how lakes and streams that had been diverted or destroyed to literally pave the way for humans would reappear and reassert their rightful place in the world. Actually, the Earth looked like it was a whole lot happier without us.

And the Earth, in her infinite wisdom, clearly cares even less about the entertainment industry than I do.