Love, Hell and Popcorn: How can three such disparate themes find themselves deeply interwoven and implanted in the mind of a near normal person like myself? I suppose psychologists, both amateur and professional, could have a field day with such a thing. I shudder at the thought.
Maybe I better explain myself.
A couple of weekends ago I was feeling a bit under the weather and decided to take to the bed at mid-afternoon. Sleep eluded me so I turned on the T.V. and flipped through the stations. I ended up watching a rerun of the old 1960 movie “Pollyanna”, starring Hayley Mills. This movie brought back a flood of memories, some positive and some negative. Upon reflection, it seems “Pollyanna” was a major turning point in my life, marking the first time I realized that females were, well, females.
I had wandered into the Gulf Theatre in Venice, Florida at the tender age of 11, figuring to catch the el cheapo morning matinee. On my meager allowance, the morning matinee was about all I could afford. Little did I know that the feature film, “Pollyanna,” would be a watershed in my life.
When Hayley Mills appeared on the screen, I was dumbstruck. My heart fluttered, my mouth fell open and came close to spilling my popcorn. Never had I seen anyone more beautiful. In fact, I suspect this was the first time in my 11 years that I even thought of a girl being beautiful. New and alien feelings flooded my being, both euphoric and confusing. In a word, I was smitten.
I watched her as she danced across the screen. I marveled at her blonde pigtails. I hung on her every word. I wasn’t really sure what I was feeling, but whatever it was, I liked it. Sitting there spellbound, I slowly munched my popcorn and felt contented in this strange new world.
My reverie was broken when the specter of Karl Malden, resplendent with a clerical collar, stalked onto the screen. Malden, playing a small town preacher, stood in silence and glared out over his congregation like a sniper in search of a victim. I wasn’t sure what Malden was up to, but I remember wishing that he would finish so I could get back to Hayley.
“Death comes unexpectedly,” scowled Malden, leaning over the pulpit. “Yes, death comes unexpectedly.” He then proceeded to launch into a loud, dramatic fire and brimstone sermon that, to be honest, scared the bejeebers out of me. An 11-year-old boy is an impressionable commodity and Malden no doubt made an impression, albeit a negative one. In the film, members of the congregation, especially the kids, squirmed in their seats and even grown men loosened their collars. I suspect the audience in the Gulf Theatre had a similar reaction but it was too dark to tell. Speaking for myself, I was petrified.
“Death comes unexpectedly,” Malden kept repeating. My love for Hayley was soon forgotten as the actor droned on about sinners being dangled over a pit of fire, seared and dripping like over-roasted marshmallows.
Mercifully, Malden finished fairly quickly but the damage had already been done. Hayley returned to the screen and I did my best to get back to the pre-Malden joy I had felt, but it wasn’t quite retrievable.
I mention all this because I have come to believe that two of the most fundamental aspects of human life are love and spirituality. I am also convinced that, at their core, these two are ideally part of one whole. Love should foster the spiritual life and the spiritual life should give rise to love.
Unfortunately, in many circles this is no longer the case. These days, what passes for love more often than not spawns immorality. And religion, in all too many cases, gives rise to fear.
Interestingly enough, a couple of years after my fateful visit to the Gulf Theatre, the events that transpired on that Saturday morning played out in real life. I became smitten with a classmate and felt all the feelings I had experienced in the dark with my popcorn. Moreover, I felt them on a grander scale. Around this time, my mother, in her infinite wisdom, decided we needed to switch churches. The preacher there didn’t look anything like Karl Malden, but he was of the same stripe. Brother Gill lived by the credo that there was no sense talking about something if you could yell about it. My first crush didn’t last long and neither did my enjoyment of church.
These sorts of things can have a lingering effect. These days, whenever I see Malden in a rerun of The Streets of San Francisco I get a chill up my spine. Whenever I see Hayley Mills, I taste popcorn.