I have a confession: I cry at movies.
I don’t cry at intellectual French new wave movies, or alternative, gritty indie movies, either. No. I cry at schmaltzy, popcorn, commercial, not very good movies.
Last night, I was to be found snivelling on the sofa at the end of The Switch which is – wait for it – a romantic comedy starring Jennifer Aniston (God, I am loathing myself so much at this point). It’s about the hilarious consequences of a mix-up with some sperm. I know – highbrow, right? Kurosawa Akira, it's not.
But there’s this little kid and all he really wants is a family, and Jason Bateman is so lovely, and at the end it all falls into place and basically that’s all it takes to turn me into a hormonal wreck reaching for the tissues. Well, actually I started crying in the scene where the kid has hair lice, which I admit is completely risible.
It’s weird. For starters, I am a person who sometimes takes films seriously. So I feel faintly embarrassed by the fact that I think I might love Enchanted almost as much as Kick-Ass. Although it's going to take a very special moment to beat the bit where Nicholas Cage shoots Chloe Moretz in the chest at close range.
Then there’s the fact that I am pretty much the most emotionally autistic person I know. Close friends have been known to describe me as Sally ‘dead inside’ Whittle. I never cry. I almost never raise my voice, and I’m certainly not comfortable with public displays of emotion – I try to avoid mixing with too many Southerners because of all the unnecessary kissing, for example. I am pathologically Northern.
But put me in front of a cinema or TV screen and I turn into a complete girl. After repeated viewings, I still can’t get through Serendipity without embarrassing myself (I blame the Nick Drake soundtrack) and I had to wear sunglasses on the way home from Toy Story 3 and pretend I had hay fever.
Like all embarrassing personal weaknesses, I’ve decided to blame this entirely on Flea. Because before she came along I watched Titanic and didn’t cry. Now? I cry at Coke commercials.
She’s ruined me.
Give me some small crumb of comfort and tell me it's not just me, is it?