Movies for me, a break for Mom, Dad

Chita Rivera, talented American dancer, singer and actress, died a few days ago at the age of 91.

I first saw her on the big screen in 1961 in “West Side Story” when I was itty bitty. She was doing a dance number to the movie’s song, “America.”

To be sure, back then I didn’t know who Chita Rivera was or understand the pointed lyrics to the song.

But the people onscreen were singing and dancing snappily with spirit and I liked it. It’s still one of my favorite movie scenes.

Years later I would watch that flick and laugh a bit, wondering what in the world was an itty bitty kid like me doing in a movie theater watching this flick with its adult story line, social statements and violence?

I was in my 50s before I figured out why Dad and Mom frequently sent me, my brother and sister off to the movies on Saturday afternoons in the early 1960s.

A big lightbulb lit up in my head one day: They wanted some alone time.

I come by slow learning honestly.

After all, talk of money, sex and passing gas was not allowed at our house.

For most of the stuff I asked about around the house the answer from Dad was usually “That’s none of your business” and from Mom the answer was “Look it up.”

When Dad and Mom sent us to the movies, I got to see some pretty good flicks from back in the day, even if I didn’t understand them.

There was John Wayne in “The Alamo.” Even when I was itty bitty I understood if John Wayne was in a movie, it was supposed to be good.

I liked the sci-fi flicks like “Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea,” and “Mysterious Island.”

“Mysterious Island” had giant critters running amok: A giant crab, a giant bird, stuff like that easily gets the attention of a kid.

There was “Mutiny on the Bounty,” the 1962 version with Marlon Brando.

From that movie I learned a new word, “breadfruit” and I thought I’d like to go to Tahiti because in the movie, that South Pacific island seemed to be populated by lots of women-folk who weren’t wearing much clothes.

Coming home from that movie I learned Dad didn’t like Brando.

“I was working at the hotel near one of his filming locations and I met him. He wouldn’t take off his sunglasses when we spoke. Rude,” Dad said.

We got sent off to see “How The West Was Won,” in Cinerama.

All I remember about Cinerama was it involved a huge screen and three synchronized projectors to give the movie-goer a whiz-bang movie watching experience.

It was such an expansive flick, it even had an intermission.

And the movie’s opening theme, a powerful, driving musical score, is still one of my all-time favorite works.

As the years rolled on the family’s movie-going habits changed.

My brother went away to college, my sister got to be a teenager and Mom, Dad, my sister and I would all go to the movies together.

I fell asleep during “Doctor Zhivago.”

Saturday afternoons, though, when I was old enough to go to movies by myself, I saw cinematic epics like “Barbarella,” “Ghidora the Three-headed Monster” and James Bond flicks.

James Bond flicks.

What was with all the smooching and stuff?

Talk about something I didn’t fully understand back then.

Grant McGee writes for The Eastern New Mexico News. Contact him:

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