The Careful Art of Comfort Movies

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I kept hearing it in whispers, until one friend was bold enough to say it to my face:

You like boring movies.

At first, I was mildly irked.  I tend to take things personally, especially insults flung in the general direction of my DVD shelf.  But the more I thought about it, the more I realized my friends were correct in their assessment.  I do like boring movies.  Not all the time—car chases and espionage have their place—but after a grueling day of classes or sweater folding work, I like to curl up with blanket and remote, press play, and indulge in run-of-the-mill films with slow, predictable plots. 

There’s probably some kind of psychological explanation for this, I’m sure.  We crave the certainty of what we already know, that kind of thing.  But for me, a true “boring” movie is more than just expected cause and effect.  There’s a level of trust with a boring movie: no one will be grievously injured, catastrophic world events will cease to exist, and the unlikely couple will get together because it’s meant to be.  For me, these movies cease to be boring and turn into something else entirely: they’re comforting.  Comfort movies.  It’s an entire genre ignored by advertisers and critics alike. 

I didn’t develop a real need for comfort movies until my first semester of college.  Over orientation weekend I snuck away from the forced group activities, taking refuge in my dorm with The Electric Horseman, a 1979 romantic comedy starring Jane Fonda and Robert Redford.  (I’m madly in love with Robert Redford, but more on that later.)  Chronicling a former rodeo star’s attempt to release an abused thoroughbred racehorse into the wilds of Utah, the film was a perfect diversion from the fact that my new roommate had no intentions of coexisting.  Everything about the movie was comparatively delightful: Jane Fonda’s attempts to get an interview with the runaway cowboy, the quirky side characters of small-town Nevada, Redford’s  shaggy blond hair.  I’d watch The Electric Horseman repeatedly over the new few months, and it’s still the first movie I reach for after having a long day.



 I’m not sure how The Electric Horseman is remembered by the collective American pop culture consciousness, or if it’s even remembered at all.  The film is gloriously dated, from its contemporary references to Fonda’s impractical high-heeled boots.  The storyline walks the fine line between comic and completely unbelievable, and as its critics pointed out almost all of the action takes place in the beginning of the film.  Personally, I wonder if any of that really matters. 

My Other Go-To Comfort Movies In Times of Need:

Brigadoon (1954) - There’s probably nothing more comforting than watching Gene Kelly tap dance his way through a soundstage posing as Scotland.  If the Technicolor costumes aren’t enough to cheer you up, “Go Home With Bonnie Jean” will be stuck in your head for the next few weeks, and that should do the trick.

Seems Like Old Times (1980) – This light comedy is filled with witty Neil Simon dialogue and the kinds of ridiculous situations only Chevy Chase and Goldie Hawn could find themselves in.  Add in the scenery of the California coast, half a dozen stray dogs, and a forced bank robbery: comfort movie gold.

Heart and Souls (1993) – Before he was Iron Man or Sherlock Holmes, Robert Downey Jr. was Thomas Reilly, a young man with the misfortunate (or pleasure) of having four ghost companions to accompany him through life.  There’s plenty of slapstick and even a couple small musical numbers to keep things interesting.

Lost in Translation (2003) – This slow-moving film follows the ambiguous relationship of two emotionally struggling Americans who find themselves in Tokyo.  The soundtrack alone is the perfect companion for a rainy day, and Bill Murray and Scarlett Johansson have the kind of chemistry that can be watched repeatedly.