In 1997, my mom and aunt dragged my cousin and me to the theatres to watch Titanic. The theatre had an age requirement because of the nudity in the film. Mom and aunt lied and said my cousin and I were ten.
As epic movies often do, Titanic captured my imagination. The love story was sweet, but the real story began when the ship started sinking. I’ve been watching it sink almost every year since. Borrowed the VHS tape, borrowed the CD, VCD, and DVD. Caught it on Netflix. Caught it yesterday on TV.
I’ve experienced the pain of glacier water. Jack described the plunge akin to being stabbed with knives. For a moment, yes. And then your body goes numb. Like your limbs fell asleep, but they refuse to wake up.
I guess I don’t enjoy seeing the second half as much as I’m mortified by it. Over and over, I ask myself what I would have done if I were there. For one thing, I’d share the damn door with Jack. Mythbusters proved that there was enough room! Joking aside, I’m not quite sure. Only luck — only some higher power — could pull people out of that death trap.
At the beginning of the film when Jack and his Italian friend stood on the deck waving goodbye to people on the dock, the friend asked if he knew all these people.
Jack replied that it wasn’t the point.
