I'm one of the few people in the world who simply does not change. I'm a bit like igneous rock or Donald Trump's wig: immutable, irascible, and constant. My attitude towards the film Titanic is proof that my nine-year-old self is basically identical to my twenty-four-year-old self; that is to say, a closet sentimental wearing too much makeup and mentally reciting cytokine functions to keep herself from crying in public.
When someone decided to pull Titanic off the shelf, dust it off, and refurbish it in 3D, I instantly dropped what I was doing, donned my nerdy 3D glasses, and settled down with a box of Kleenex to watch one of my favorite big-budget, cathartic, larger-than-life films. And I am the queen of big-budget, cathartic, larger-than-life films. This one, in particular, has enthralled me since the tender age of nine, when I saw the film five times in the theater, purchased the visual companion book, wallpapered my bedroom in Titanic posters, memorized the script, and learned to play the theme music on my flute. Since then, I've remained a devoted fan of all things Titanic.
Unfortunately, I can't say definitively that the 3D reissue was worth the absurd price tag of $35. Sure, it was cool to see bits of the wreckage hurling towards you, but I don't know that it revolutionized my viewing experience. I do, however, feel like I know Kate Winslet quite well after seeing her boobs in three gigantic, high-definition dimensions. I just might send her an email and invite her over to help with my spring cleaning.
The only thing--and I truly mean the only thing--that has changed about my opinion of Titanic is my take on the "love story". It's not that I don't still find the whirlwind romance of Jack and Rose to be deliciously and tragically entrancing; I do, and I appreciate the actors' obvious, accessible, Disney-esque performances. (Kate and Leo are talented actors who didn't allow their egos to coerce them into over-thinking their characters.) However, I no longer think that there was anything all that deep or durable about the relationship between Jack and Rose. I think it was a lusty, teenage fling--a manifestation of Rose's rebellion against her buttoned-up, society girl persona. Had Jack survived, and the two of them run off together as planned, I think that Rose would have become increasingly resentful of Jack for luring her away from her luxurious, easy way of life, and Jack would have become a philandering alcoholic to compensate for his guilt and feelings of inadequacy. Their "love story" would have ended in depression, detachment, and a realization that what they felt for one another was an illusion, conjured by the glamor and mystery of their tryst on Titanic. In short, they would have fallen apart, like so many real-life couples do. If anyone had tried to tell me that when I was nine years old, and had never experienced romance for myself, I would have been horror-struck and indignant. "But they love each other!" I would have gasped, not knowing that, in the real world, what you want at age seventeen isn't necessarily what you'll want at age thirty.
So I wasn't quite as sad and desolate this time around when poor Jack the Popsicle finally drowned, because I knew that their love story had the chance to fade away gracefully, rather than crumbling to pieces in gritty, unglamorous dysfunction. And that's what I've always loved about movies! The way they play out is so much neater and more orderly than real life. When I was younger, I might have wished that the story had ended differently, that it could have had a "happy ending", but now I understand that a story with a happy ending doesn't necessarily mean the same thing as a real-life favorable outcome.
They just don't make corny, over-the-top tear-jerkers like Titanic anymore. Movies are so damn complicated nowadays, with all their inceptions and mementos and different versions of Spider-Man. Give me a good, epic story with stunning visual effects (and, ideally, a battle scene or two) and I'm happy--at any age.
