Yesterday, on my train ride to work, a man sat down next to me, opened his portable DVD player, and proceeded to watch one of the most horrific murder scenes I have ever witnessed. The dying woman was probably in her twenties, with blue eyes and blonde hair. The guy caught me gaping at his DVD player. Did I mention that I’m in my twenties and that I have blue eyes and blonde hair? ”Isn’t this movie the best?” he said to me, sighing with deep, unwavering appreciation for graphic violence, fake blood, and extended close-ups of mangled limbs and internal organs. He grinned. ”It’s my favorite,” he added. He grinned wider.
At least, I think that’s what he said. It’s also very possible that he whispered, ”You’re next, blondie.”
Enjoying violent movies doesn’t make someone a murderer. I get that. But when we reached our destination, I ran with wild abandon from wacko train guy, lest he hunt me down and push me head first onto the subway tracks. He’d grin from above and cackle, ”What’s your favorite scary movie?” because Scream (pictured) is probably his second favorite movie. After I died, he’d go home to cut up magazines for the ”I know what you did last summer” note he drops Jennifer Love Hewitt every Halloween.
I realize I have an overactive imagination, but tell me you’ve never made snap judgment about someone based on their favorite movies or television shows. Not just violent flicks. When my friend revealed that his favorite movie of all time is Hitch, it nearly ended our relationship. Nothing against Hitch, but really, best movie of all time? Does Will Smith even believe that? Try acknowledging that you watch X-Files or Star Trek. Non-fans will want to know if you spend thousands of dollars on eBay for autographed headshots and spend weekend nights alone in your bedroom, holding episode marathons while dusting your still-packaged collector’s figurines and alphabetizing your trading cards. I once told a guy that I think Runaway Bride is a good movie, and after that, swear to God, I never saw him again. It was like he knew I’d be finicky and unable to commit, or that he’d be forced to watch every Julia Roberts movie in which love conquers all. (So, every Julia Roberts movie.)
PopWatchers, what does your favorite show say about you? Can a person be judged by his or her DVD collection? Is it normal to watch graphic, ultraviolent horror films during a 6:30 a.m. train commute?
addCredit(“Scream: Everett Collection”)