Forrest Gump

This morning I saw Forrest Gump, starring Tom Hanks and Robin Wright.

The 20th anniversary presentation in IMAX showcases the classic in better-than-ever visual clarity and sound. And somehow I thought my multiple viewings of the film these past two decades would make me immune from the obligatory flow of tears that always accompanies it, but I was mistaken.

The triggers for me are the same as they always have been (SPOILERS):  Forrest can't find a seat on the bus; the kids throw rocks at young Forrest; Jenny says goodbye to Forrest in Memphis; Mama's sick; Lieutenant Dan arrives at the wedding; Forrest talks to Jenny under the tree; little Forrest boards the school bus.

I can still smell the stale room in gritty New York before the New Year. I can still feel the heavy Southern air as Jenny and Forrest dance to "Sweet Home Alabama." I can remember the fear in the world as John Lennon and President Reagan were shot (those historical parts of the story I'm actually old enough to remember).

I grieve for those who lost soldiers in Vietnam; for anyone who was abused by a parent or a school bully; for everyone who has felt that they are not adequate; for children who miss their mothers; for years lost with a romantic love; for all who were lost to AIDS before we knew how to treat it.

For a movie that is so often lighthearted and funny, it really can wreck you.

It wrecked me today as harshly as it did when I saw it as a college student in 1994. And I'm okay with that—it's simply my primal response to the genius of Robert Zemeckis and Tom Hanks and Robin Wright and tragic music by Alan Silvestri.

Regardless of what the haters might say, it still holds up.

~~~