We had little bags of tissue. Handfuls of Hershey kisses. And promotional pop-sockets, celebrating the artwork from the movie we were about to see.
We had a healthy dinner beforehand. We splurged on popcorn and slushees and candy, and we all hit the bathroom before the movie started. I thought we were more than prepared for the advanced screening of Five Feet Apart, a teen love story that centers on two cystic fibrosis patients.
I guess I just wasn’t ready for the F-bombs. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no Girl Scout. I swear, six ways to Sunday or however that totally clean cliché goes. But, I didn’t realize they could use the F-word in PG-13 movies.
Breakfast Club was rated R, and according to the Motion Picture Association of America, it only received that rating because it referenced marijuana, but didn’t show ill effects. I don’t know…I kind of use that movie as a measuring stick. Because, I was young when I saw it – 5,000 times.
I felt some relief knowing that Five Feet Apart’s central axis teetered on the fact that this boy and this girl couldn’t get closer than five feet because of their diseases.
“Phew. So, no sex scenes.”
That’s what I thought to myself, which is universally my biggest concern as the kids want to watch more grown-upish movies.
I would have said “adult” instead of “grown-upish” but that sounded worse. They’ve seen Dirty Dancing, and they’ve seen Top Gun – albeit with me doing jumping jacks in front of the TV during the whole silhouette sex scene. Not with me, but I know they’ve seen other, recent movies, too that are littered with innuendo and bad language. I even overheard one of my kid’s classmates talking about the movie It, in detail, and he’s in fourth grade.
But there was a very tense scene that didn’t lead anywhere, really, but still left me for a few minutes sweating out a serious make-out session. Especially considering the language I wasn’t prepared for in a PG-13 movie.
I guess I just always thought that “f*ck” put a movie directly into R territory. And I’m not even trying to be a prude, I’m just learning out loud. They’ve definitely heard it, in life. And it doesn’t mean we wouldn’t have gone, had I known. I just would have prepared them, or been ready myself.
So, now I know. F*ck is permissible in PG-13 movies. Even sappy, super sad love stories between cystic fibrosis patients. Maybe more so in those movies, because it’s more real and not salacious.
I mean, f*uck it. It’s true love. And the movie’s good. I cried. And so did the kids. Who really f*ckin’ cares, I guess. It’s just letters strung together to make a word. Big f*ckin’ deal.