Jumanji is still the scariest movie I’ve ever seen, which is weird to say because I feel like no movie featuring Robin Williams should invoke fear (even you, One Hour Photo). I always try to re-engage myself into the movie, but every time I start, I get scared like the five-year-old I was when I first experienced the horror that includes giant mosquitos, stampedes and Kirsten Dunst’s attempt at acting. It’s because of this movie and other events I’d like to invoke a new phrase into our collective dictionaries: nostalgic remission.
(Side note: other terms that were work shopped: experiential déjà vu, sense based nostalgia and re-Kairos.)
Nostalgic remission, at its core, is feeling like the age you first encountered a milestone in your life. In this case, Jumanji was the first “horror” movie I had ever seen and thus it will hold a benchmark in my life. I have seen horror movies since and none truly terrify me like Joe Johnston’s finest work (I mean The Wolfman was terrifyingly bad, so I won’t count it).
Think about it, isn’t life just a collection of memories that we’ve lived? At this moment in time you have lived more in the past than in the present. It takes the brain a few milliseconds to process an image the eyes see, but since it’s not exactly instantaneous, we always live in the past—scientifically speaking of course. The fact that one can never “truly” live in the moment is probably the reason I stay up all night laughing at pictures of puppies rather than write a screenplay or go to the gym.
Why does nostalgic remission matter? I think it helps define who we are as people and why we act the way we do. Think about the album you’ve loved the longest (not the oldest album you love, but the first album you loved that you still do). When you listen to it, do you get memories associated with your age? Here’s an example: The album I’ve loved the longest is Franz Ferdinand, self-titled. I was 12 years old when I first heard “Take Me Out” and I was introduced to good music. Before buying Franz Ferdinand’s album, my collection consisted of N*SYNC, Jennifer Lopez and Britney Spears (all good in their own rights, but come on now). Thanks to these Scottish lords of all that is good, I started seeking out non-mainstream music and thus have become the hipster douche you see today.
Every time I belt out the lyrics “So if you’re lonely, you know I’m here waiting for you,” I recall the first time I listened to the song and literally giggled with joy. Not only that, but I get the sense I’m back in a prepubescent stage of my life; one riddled with high-pitched yelps and the hope that one day I’ll be an adult (hey 12-year-old me, growing old sucks, enjoy the Go-Gurts while you can.)
My acceptance that Franz Ferdinand is 12-year-old Michael’s favorite album has made it much more enjoyable even if my tastes change. My top five movies constantly change depending on what I’ve recently watched (the best movie of the last few years is Drive, and if you disagree then you clearly didn’t watch it), and my choice in friends change. But it’s those childhood moments you hang on to hoping you can rekindle the wonderment of youth and the sensational feeling of learning something new. It would’ve been amazing being in the movie theatres in 1980 and hearing Darth Vader reveal to Luke Skywalker he is Luke’s father, but regretfully the epic twist was ruined years earlier by every goddamn cartoon spoofing it. However, if you were to experience it and actually have your mind blown, don’t you think every time that scene is even referenced you go back to that theatre seat and relive it once again?
In the end, I’m not telling you anything new, I just gave you another pointless term to add to your repertoire which you can use to look smart to your father-in-law when he asks why your favorite movie is Space Jam. But that’s mostly what I do; write pointless things, scream while watching Jumanji and break out smiling when hearing the riffs of “This Fire.” Sue me.
How old were you when you realized your favorite movie scenes were all Vader-Skywalker references? Tell Michael by emailing mvoloshin@wisc.edu.
