I Wanted My Four-Year-Old to Love Moviegoing. How Hard Could It Be?

As a film critic with years of experience in the industry, I’ve attended countless screenings and have cherished many memorable moments shared with my family at the movies. However, I must admit that I found myself in a peculiar situation recently when I took my young daughter to see “Trolls” – an experience that left me questioning the future of cinema for her generation.

When it came time to choose a name for our first child, my husband and I had a list of one.

A few years before her birth, we had an exceptional date to watch an Agnès Varda film in repertory; we were captivated by the protagonist’s style, wit, and resilience, just as we admired Varda’s journey as a groundbreaking woman in the French New Wave. We had seen Varda’s documentary “Faces Places” at New York’s Quad Cinema only a week before watching “Cléo From 5 to 7” at the Alamo Drafthouse in Brooklyn, and this double bill remained vivid in our memory, particularly during the spring of 2020. Cleo D’Addario celebrated her 4th birthday in May of this year.

I’d always assumed that moviegoing would be a part of Cleo’s story, and the story of our parenting her. I grew up movie mad, a town over from an AMC multiplex that’s still standing. That’s where I saw “The Lion King” and “101 Dalmatians” (the Glenn Close version) and “The Parent Trap” (the Lindsay Lohan version); you couldn’t have told me that now-forgotten movies like “Paulie,” “Gordy” or “Bicentennial Man” weren’t huge hits — I saw them as part of a crowd, after all. Visiting on school breaks from college and then after graduation, I saw “The Wrestler” and “Captain Phillips” and “Creed II” with my dad at that AMC — seeing movies together has been part of how we communicate.

With great anticipation, I brought Cleo to her inaugural movie theater visit last autumn. I’d made her aware that in a cinema, one needs to stay quiet and considerate of others’ enjoyment, and she grasped this concept as well as a 3-year-old could. I had warned her that it might get dark and she could feel a bit scared, but she could hold my hand for comfort. Additionally, I shared with her the longstanding custom of movie treats, and when we reached Regal Union Square in Manhattan, she certainly made the most of it! She managed to secure an ice cream cone along with a pack of popcorn, candy, and fruit juice from a father who simply wanted her to have a delightful time watching “Trolls Band Together.

The issues arose roughly halfway through the previews, as Cleo grew restless with each commercial that played. I had informed her these were sneak peeks of upcoming content, and for a while, she seemed to understand. However, when an advertisement for a car company appeared, she sighed dramatically and exclaimed, “Again?” This was particularly surprising given my past as a professional film critic. Following this, there was a promotional spot for the musical remake of “The Color Purple,” which started ominously with eerie music and showcased Colman Domingo’s character yelling and shooting a gun into the air. Even though “The Color Purple” may have its supporters, it is likely that its fanbase doesn’t align well with the audience for “Trolls.

“I want a break,” Cleo said. We left the theater, and she told me that it was too loud and not fun. We eventually went back in and watched just enough of the movie to begin to get the premise — they’re trolls, but they’re also NSYNC — before Cleo announced, “I want to be done.” So we went to the Strand bookstore nearby, where I told her she could buy any book she wanted; instead, she picked out a purple toy cat and named it Sylvia, after one of her classmates.

It could have been the wrong moment or location! Seven months passed, and I gave it another try, taking her to an NCG chain’s small theater during an upstate trip. We attended a revival screening of “The Land Before Time” — more snacks, more grumbles about the trailer noise, another outburst, intense and loud in the dark. (Perhaps the world of dinosaurs isn’t suitable for a sensitive 4-year-old.)

Cleo admitted, as we headed towards the bathroom during her requested break, that she had been feigning the need to go. In truth, she didn’t need to use the restroom. Instead, she suggested we continue to linger outside.

It’s possible that my assumptions about Cleo’s peers’ movie-going habits were misguided. While I enjoyed shouting movie lines with friends on the playground, it seems that many of Cleo’s contemporaries don’t go to the movies as frequently – as evidenced by our surprise when a family we know took their daughter to see Halle Bailey’s “Little Mermaid.” (Iris, Cleo’s younger sibling, has only been to three movies in theaters, which was due to me taking her to “baby day” screenings at Alamo during the time when she used to nap all day.)

Among Cleo’s friends, entertainment holds sway – and my mini universe ruler is no exception. She frequently pauses movies to rewind to preferred scenes: I don’t believe she’s ever advanced beyond a scene in “Turning Red,” where the protagonist trips on her backpack, and for her, “Barbie” serves as a platform for Dua Lipa, who has a brief appearance as a mermaid.

Cleo prefers supercuts to movies — YouTube is currently banned in our household, but back when it wasn’t, a video called “Cruella de Vil laughing for 2 minutes,” created by a user named JuanDiva, was what she thought “101 Dalmatians” was. And low-fi content that feels user-created, even if it isn’t, appeals to Cleo more than high-gloss Hollywood product: Her absolute favorite program features two children named Vlad and Nikita running around a Miami mansion screaming incoherently at their beleaguered mom. It also originated on YouTube, and I thought my ban on the platform had done the trick, until I discovered that it had been licensed to Max — Cleo saw it as I was cuing up “Sesame Street.” She refers to this show as “Kids,” and asks if she can watch “Kids” every single night. (Dear David Zaslav: This one is personal.)

Glancing around at the discontent and restlessness displayed by various screenings, where I had brought Cleo (and later, “The Wild Robot”), it was evident that I wasn’t the only parent grappling with a child squirming in their seat. The question arises: if we struggle to keep children engaged through a 90-minute movie – given their propensity to customize every aspect of their entertainment – what other shared experiences might they be overlooking?

As someone who appreciates the magic of cinema, I find myself harboring a hope, albeit a small one, that Cleo might eventually develop a love for movies. If the perfect film comes her way at the right age (fingers crossed that cinemas continue to thrive), it could be just the match that sparks her interest. Some aspects of the theater – the loud speakers, the dark enclosure, and the crowds – seem to resonate with Cleo’s thoughtful, cautious personality.

It’s the element of control that bothers me — the sense that maybe Cleo is simply so accustomed to determining the pacing and the circumstances of every single experience in her life that the great parts of moviegoing simply can’t compare. But if the delivery system for art really is changing — if this younger generation is so immune to its charms that the theatrical experience is going away, then maybe I’ll just be forced to find things to love, or at least to tolerate, in the entertainment Cleo chooses. She’s the one with the control, after all. (By the way, huge box office grosses for the recent “Inside Out” and “Despicable Me” sequels, and early tracking for “Wicked” and “Moana 2,” suggest that the theatrical experience isn’t, yet, going away.)

If Cleo is going to develop a fondness for watching movies, it will likely occur as she matures and becomes capable of following a narrative. Her curiosity about intriguing characters is evident – just look at how her eyes sparkled when she saw Cruella laugh. (Many thanks to Glenn Close and JuanDiva.) I believe this development is inevitable. However, I’ve been to enough movie theaters to know that the experience holds greater value when you can’t skip ahead to the best parts.

Just as those movie outings with my father hold a special place in my heart, so does our first visit to the cinema with Cleo, no matter how brief it was and we just watched one and a half troll serenades. On our way home from the subway, Cleo and I paused for a game of catch on the sidewalk, using Sylvia the cat as the ball. As I threw Sylvia back to her, I wondered what she enjoyed most about the day, assuming it would be the bookstore or the subway or her scooter ride around Union Square. But in a flash, she seemed like a teenager already – someone I hope will one day accompany me to watch big blockbusters, art films, and movies she’ll find fascinating enough to share with me.

“Well,” she said, “my favorite part of today was when we saw ‘Trolls.’”

It was a start.

2024-11-21 20:24

I Wanted My Four-Year-Old to Love Moviegoing. How Hard Could It Be?

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