Fiona McCade: Crying at films is a man thing, too

Published on Monday 8 February 2010 18:05

THE only time I've ever sat through The English Patient was in the cinema, when I'd spent good money, and was stuck in the middle of a row and couldn't escape. I'd gone with my mate Mike, so I survived the interminable boredom by gorging on popcorn and giggling whenever I felt him shaking with laughter at the sheer awfulness of it.

When the lights finally went up, I turned to him, intending to say: "Thank God that's over!" But I couldn't, because it was only then that I realised he was crying. Proper, big tears were rolling down his cheeks. All that time I'd been sniggering, he'd actually been sobbing. I patted him on the shoulder and offered helpfully: "At least she hadn't decomposed."

It's a good job Mike never met a woman called Hollie Stech, because if those two ever got together, the tears would never stop flowing. Hollie is the eponymous heroine of a new website called CryingWife.com, which was set up by her husband to capture the helpless howling that takes place almost every time Hollie watches a film.

Hollie cries at Star Wars. She cries at Back to the Future. She cried at the end of Lord of the Rings, when most of us were still aching with laughter from the "Think about strawberries Master Frodo" bit. She can't help herself; show her something even slightly emotional, and she becomes cinema's answer to Paul Gascoigne.

Although she obviously needs a good slap, there's nothing intrinsically wrong with CryingWife.com. Hollie is in on the joke; she doesn't mind the world watching her whimper: "Did R2D2 get put back together?" She's not being exploited, and I've even suggested a new film for her to watch (I guarantee they'll need a waterproof camera when she sees A Tree Grows in Brooklyn), but having witnessed her wailing her way through several blockbusters, I'm definitely feeling the need to provide some sort of antidote to this saltwater overdose.

Women crying at films is already such an irritating clich; showing a woman weeping uncontrollably and incoherently at Back to the Future really isn't doing the female cause any good at all, so I'm wondering what I can do to redress the balance.

I thought of starting up my own website called HardHeartedBitch.com, which would show videos of me sitting unmoved through all the Lassie films, Sophie's Choice, Love Story, The One Where Debra Winger Dies and, of course, the bleedin' English Patient. I have huge experience of not finding films sad, so I could probably keep this site running for years. On my first visit to America – aged 25 – my hosts couldn't believe I'd never seen ET. I told them it was because I wasn't interested in films where the lead character is a rubber puppet. "No!" They cajoled. "You'll believe it. You'll cry your eyes out." At the end, they were all prostrate with grief and I was still sitting there, finishing off the popcorn, dry-eyed at the fate of the rubber puppet.

But maybe HardHearted Bitch.com would be a bit too much of a knee-jerk reaction. Hollie Stech may have all the emotional continence of Gwyneth Paltrow on Oscar night, but at least she's getting thoroughly involved with the film, and that's what cinema is supposed to be about.

I can do that, too. In fact, the saddest film of all time – the aforementioned A Tree Grows in Brooklyn – can make my bottom lip wobble just thinking about it, so I'm not a hopeless case. I also can't get more than 20 minutes into Field of Dreams without being reduced to a pool of pure blub, and that's about baseball, for God's sake.

All I want to do is show that women aren't the only ones who sniffle at films; that both sexes can have a good howl at the movies. Now that even the Prime Minister has cried on national television (albeit with good reason), perhaps more men might be open about their feelings, especially in the safety of their living rooms.

I think I'll set up It'sOKToCry.com and next time I go to see my brother-in-law, I'll tape him watching Samson and Delilah, because the end bit, when Samson is knocking down the temple, never fails to choke him up.

Alternatively, I could cut to the chase and create CryingMan.com, starting with a secretly taped, men-only screening of The Shawshank Redemption.

But perhaps for the best results, I should just video my husband and his mates next time the Scottish football team are playing. A sob-fest is guaranteed…