Today, Jaclyn and I made our second baby-free excursion of the weekend, ducking out to see Hereditary, the recent release about a mother who experiences a psychotic break because her daughter won’t stop making a clicking sound with her tongue (or so I gathered from the trailer). Also, at some point a human catches on fire.
Seriously though, we’d heard good things, and any horror/suspense movie with a Rotten Tomatoes score of 90% with critics and 56% with audiences is a more than safe bet with me.
This is the first movie we’ve been to since Miles was born that wasn’t about super-heroes or Star Wars, and it affected me in a way I wasn’t prepared for. The movie is about a mother dealing with intense psychological stress that only intensifies as the movie progresses, and I know I would’ve found myself drawn into it one way or the other, but watching a movie about parents and children is a far different experience for me now than it was a year ago.
Without spoiling too much, something happens to one child in particular that is absolutely gut-wrenching, and although it only drew me deeper into the movie (particularly with regard to Toni Collette’s character), I spent the next several minutes thinking about what would happen if I were in her position and had just experienced the most devastating thing a parent can grapple with (even just a tenth of what she goes through would be unbearable — everything, from the way it happens in the movie to the aftermath, is pretty goddamn horrible).
To the best of my knowledge, there is no history of demon worshiping and/or ancestors who wanted to fashion their scions into vessels for the damned in my family history, so I can rest a little easier. Still, my ability to view…let’s call it a “family drama”…subjectively has intensified in an unexpected way thanks to parenthood.