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We’ve all got our cultural blind spots, those seminal works that have somehow managed to pass us by.
For instance, my friend and longtime Free Press contributor David Sanderson has never seen a single episode of The Simpsons. (Honestly, I don’t know how he understands anything I say; half my conversation is Simpsons quotes, which everyone knows is a perfectly cromulent way to conduct discourse.)
At this point, having outlasted 33 seasons, it’s likely a point of pride to Dave that he stays in the dark, with only an academic understanding of Springfield’s famous animated family. (Little does he know he’s also depriving himself of gaining second-hand knowledge of a trove of other cultural calling cards the show pays homage to, not least among them Cape Fear, Rear Window, Planet of the Apes and A Streetcar Named Desire. There are likely people who think the Tennessee Williams’ work really is a musical: “I thought my life would be a Mardi Gras / a never-ending party… ha!”)
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David Sanderson has never seen a single episode of The Simpsons. (Fox)
One of my personal pop-culture gaps is Taxi Driver. When Free Press night sports editor Gilbert Gregory heard I’d never seen the 1975 Scorsese flick (though I’m familiar with the talking points and I have, of course, seen bartender Moe doing his best Travis Bickle on The Simpsons), he kindly loaned me his DVD copy.
That was five years ago. Maybe more. I have yet to watch it. In the interim, I have watched countless other movies. Thousands of hours of television. Last weekend alone I watched all seven episodes of the final half of Ozark’s last season.
In addition to all the new content I’ve sought out before devoting two hours to screening this classic of New Hollywood cinema, I’ve revisited shows and films that give me comfort. Aaron Sorkin’s underrated dramedy Sports Night? Let me quote it to you. Evergreen sitcom The Golden Girls? They will play Rose and Dorothy’s second-place-winning Miami theme song (“A great place to get a seafood meal…”) at my funeral.
I come by this trait honestly. My father was 19 years old when Singin’ in the Rain came out. He caught a matinee show at his local theatre in Sheffield, emerged, dazzled and blinking in the afternoon light, and promptly went back in and bought another ticket.
When he arrived home later that evening, his mother was apoplectic. “You were supposed to take Felicity Quince-Featherspoon to the Hunt Ball,” she said (I’ve made that name up but it was something similarly upper-crusty). But what country dance, what horsey, pearl-wearing girl could compare to the glory and genius of Gene Kelly in his prime?
I’m not holding out on Taxi Driver intentionally; I’m sure it’s renowned for a reason. Maybe this weekend I’ll fire up the DVD player and finally check it off my list.
But you know what else I own on DVD? Singin’ in the Rain… and it’s the 70th anniversary. Seems like a fine time to revisit it.
What shows or movies have you rewatched — again — instead of broadening your horizons? Let me know by hitting reply.
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