“Rubes! Let’s watch a movie!” my dad calls out. It’s a familiar summon that echoes in my home as my dad pulls me from friends, phone calls, and homework. Focused, I call back, “Dad, I have homework.” I argue, but it’s no use. He replies, “Do it later! This is important!” 

He’s right. Movies are important, at least in my family. All my life, I have grown up around movies. The shelves in my house are filled with countless DVDs and Blu-rays. From Colombo and Star Wars to Casablanca and Judy Garland, I have grown up watching all kinds of different films. My dad’s passion for movies has converted my family into a mini movie-making master class. 

In my house, family night means a movie night where we join together on our soft, blue couch. Blankets are ready, the TV is on, the popcorn is popped. The movie is followed by a rowdy back and forth as we discuss and analyze the movie of the night. My mom and my brother are willing participants, but really, it’s a passion my dad and I share. In fact, the majority of my best movie memories have been made with just me and my dad, where we typically stay up late to finish the newest thriller we have been chipping away at or trying to spot one of Alfred Hitchcock’s classic cameos.

Our shared love for movies began early when my dad took a 6-year-old me to see Charlie Chaplin’s The Circus. Since then, we have made countless trips to the theater and watched movies stretching widely from All the President’s Men to Babes in Toyland. While sometimes accompanied by my mom and brother, most of the time it’s just my dad, me, and his go-to Diet Coke and popcorn.

My dad is a movie producer, and he not only loves his job but also loves to dive deeper into his love for his work. Never leaving his passion just at his job but rather instilling it in me, movies now flood our weekends. Whenever we get the chance to watch something interesting showing at The Vista Theatre, my dad and I walk there for our favorite Saturday 10:00 a.m. showing. 

The screening of the movie begins even before the film is loaded into the projector. During the walk, my dad will begin a rundown of background information, as I pepper him with questions: What time period was the movie from? What was happening in the world then? What else has this director made? 

But it’s not the popcorn or the film I look forward to when going on these trips. It’s the moment we step out of the theater from the world we were just transported to. Not a footstep on the walk home is silent. Our pace bouncy as we discuss, argue, and recap the magic of the film we just watched.

Even during Covid when we couldn’t go to the theater, movies became an even more important touchpoint. In the early days of lockdown, my family began a new tradition that we called “Movie Class.” The purpose was to broaden our horizons and show my 10-year-old self new material. We would decide on a theme for the week, like animals or musicals, and would follow this theme, each of us taking a pick as we appreciated all sorts of different movies, and enjoyed each other’s company.

Undoubtedly, movies have crept into every corner of our lives and have shaped all of us into who we are. I take parts of characters wherever I go and incorporate lessons and quotes from movies into my daily life. Lines from The Godfather and Lady Bird are often thrown around our dinner table.

Somehow movies have even become a tradition when celebrating the Jewish holiday Yom Kippur.

Each Yom Kippur, after a lengthy outing to services, I return home and slip out of my nice clothes and back into my comfy Westridge plaid pajama pants. I sit down where I have probably spent most of my life, tucked into the corner of our blue couch.

My dad and I then begin our annual Jewish movie marathon, which consists of us watching “Jewish-themed movies.” These can be anything from a documentary on New York deli owners, World War II thrillers, and even to animated stories on immigration. Some of our favorite picks being Jojo Rabbit, Au revoir les enfants, and Life is Beautiful. We sit for hours sinking our teeth into all sorts of movies in different languages, time periods, and genres. The small breaks between films are filled with rich and exciting conversations about the movies. What we liked and didn’t like, the themes, writing, and complex characters.

I’ll be honest. When I was younger, I didn’t like this tradition and how set in stone it was. Sitting in place for hours alongside my dad didn’t seem all that exciting or interesting, especially when my younger brother got to be on the phone with friends upstairs as I was deep into what felt like a college-level film class. But as I have gotten older and my schedule has become filled with sports, school, and friends, my dad and I rarely get to sit down and do our favorite thing anymore.

So this October when Yom Kippur rolled around, I sank back into my regular spot on the couch, filled with a sense of nostalgia and excitement to have the privilege of focusing on a movie plot’s twists and turns. As the movie finished my dad leaned forward, reaching for the remote. Pausing the movie, he turned to me with a smile, “What’d you think?”

After the credits of our last movie, Debt, a World War II thriller, rolled up the screen, I couldn’t help but think that I only have four more Yom Kippur movie marathons left until I leave home. No doubt those four years will be filled with school, friends, and surely lots of family, but when you really think about it, you can’t script life like movies, and four years is only a couple of movies with just my dad and me.

When I think back to all of the hard times in my life, movies have always been there for me. When I was sick with the flu and kept tossing around in bed, my dad and I stayed up to watch The Harvey Girls far past my bedtime. When I was heartbroken to have to come home early from camp, we ended up watching coming of age movies like Can’t Hardly Wait and Dazed and Confused. Even when I just need an escape from my homework, movies have been there to comfort me. But as I look back, I have realized it’s never been the movies themselves, but it’s really always been the person holding the remote who’s been there for me.