Possibly one of the worst choices I've made in the last few weeks is to watch the movie "Seeking a friend for the end of the world" starring Steve Carell and Kiera Knightley on the flight from Cancun to LAX. Not because the beginning of the film sets you up for one of the worst movies ever made (everything about it is cumbersome and jarring and horrible) but that the third act is something approaching one of the most romantic, sweet things I've seen. Add to this a solid soundtrack of Scott Walker and a storyline which involves finding the love of your life as the world is about to end, plus a cute terrier, and I am afraid I was weeping for about twenty five minutes. Big fat tears rolled down my face as I covered myself in my orange wrap and tried not to sob too loud. Something about Steve Carrel stroking Kiera Knightley's hair and telling her how much he loved her rendered me a complete basket case. People around me are eating sandwiches and grunting and watching the football game and asking for extra nuts and I'm a blubbering mess.
This is why bad movies work on planes. All movies are good on planes. On a plane you are suspended from reality, just a nano-second from death, the earth below blue and inviting and kind. I remember watching the one where Bette Midler sings "The Wind Beneath My Wings" and weeping solidly for an hour. It's one of those things you can't really share with anyone. No one would understand. Nor should they.