Rough day. I slept late, then hurried my parents through our morning routine. The windy weather kept them inside, alone, as I dashed off a report to the Audubon Dems Rules Committee.
At lunchtime, we talked for a bit and I mentioned that Harrison was looking for a copy of "In Cold Blood" for his girlfriend to read. I remembered from years ago my parents telling me how in 1965 they had awaited each week's installment of the book in the New Yorker, where Truman Capote's masterpiece was first published.
I told them how much I'd enjoyed teaching the book to juniors several years ago. "Have you seen Capote?" I asked, referring to Philip Seymour Hoffman's Academy-Award-winning performance. "Or the movie In Cold Blood?"
My dad was excited. He had seen neither and wanted to see both. My mom chimed in, remembering how gripping the book had been to experience 55 years ago.
I told them I needed to teach my class (Zoom, online) at 1:00, but we set a movie date for 2 p.m.
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As we settled in to first watch "In Cold Blood," I balanced my laptop on my knees to double-task and answer some emails. My mom, sleepy midafternoon, dozed in and out on the sofa next to me. But my dad watched with full attention.
If you are familiar with the book or movie, you know that we meet the characters first on the morning of the killings. We follow them through the day until Dick and Perry approach the Clutters' house. At this point, the story skips over the murder scene and follows the investigation through to the arrest and confessions of Dick and Perry.
The reader/viewer does not experience the actual murders until 3/4 of the way through.
So 90 minutes into the film, we see Dick and Perry enter the house. We see Mr. Clutter explain that there is no money; there is no safe. Dick and Perry tie up the family. They lock them in the bathroom. Perry positions Kenyon on the sofa...
"Alli," my dad interrupted. "I don't believe I want to watch anymore."
I fumbled for the remote, hurrying to hit pause before the horror of the next scene unfolded.
I gushed apologies: I hadn't realized how hard this film might be to watch.
More than anything, my dad sounded sad. "I'm sorry you went to all the trouble," he said. "But the book seemed better than this. Maybe there was a distance." He seemed to be apologizing now.
I felt so bad.
Our afternoon of movies had caused him distress. Of course he didn't want to watch the murder scene. There is no hope for a happy ending.
My mom said she'd dozed off a few times and lost track of what was happening. "It just feels like a movie to me," she said.
But my dad looked wan. He is an empath of the highest caliber. I suggested he take the dog out or maybe we could play a game--something to shake us from this tense moment.
"I'd like to read for a while," he said.
My mother said she'd like to take a nap.
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Later, my mom found my Jolly Green Giant puzzle in a basement closet. We worked on it together. I made a goulash for supper and served Klondike bars for dessert.
Enough.
Stay well.
Write.
Allison
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