Explorez tous les épisodes du podcast Better Than You Remember

In this first episode, Rebecca and Jack introduce themselves (they're married!), and the impetus for the podcast, the significant and special link between memory and moviegoing, how there is no right way to talk about film, and what to expect with each episode.

Do you cry more when you watch a sad movie alone, with someone you love, or in a movie theater with strangers? Until Harvard does a very specific behavioral study, we’ve got one data set: not only do we cry our goddamn eyes out watching Ordinary People, Rebecca can barely get through her retelling of this multi-Academy-Award-winning classic.

Robert Redford’s directorial debut tells the story of the Jarretts – father Calvin (Donald Sutherland), mother Beth (Mary Tyler Moore), and son Conrad (Timothy Hutton) – trapped in their own silos of grief a year after their eldest son Bucky died in a boating accident, and months since Conrad attempted suicide.

When Conrad starts to visit psychiatrist Dr. Berger (Judd Hirsch, donning excellent sweaters) to confront his pain, it’s best that you have a box of Kleenex nearby – even the hardest of hearts doesn’t stand a chance as the healing begins. Jack and Rebecca compose themselves and consider the significance of survivor’s guilt, whose story Ordinary People is telling, and decide that yes, the boat likely is a metaphor.

Content consideration: this episode includes adult language and themes of depression, death, and suicide.

Between the age of nine and twelve, Rebecca probably watched Sleeping With the Enemy – in the theater, at sleepovers, and on basic cable – at least a dozen times (Rebecca's mom had no idea she was shrugging off MPAA guidance and going back to this R rated well again and again).

In this big-budget-but-honestly-it’s-really-a-Lifetime-Television-for-Women-joint, Julia Roberts plays Laura, the violently abused wife of Martin (Patrick Bergin) who cleverly fakes her own death and moves to Cedar Falls, Iowa to start a new life, where she also quickly falls for the college drama teacher Ben (Ken Anderson). When Martin – a man whose evil (and mustache) knows no bounds – learns his wife still draws breath, he comes to Iowa to “take what’s his,” and a deadly showdown transpires.

Sleeping With the Enemy, while not well received (its current standing is 24% on Rotten Tomatoes), was a financial win. Why did Rebecca – and young women, primarily – make this film a box office smash? Did watching Julia Roberts get hit, and then hit back, make them feel empowered? Thirty years later, is it just us, or does that new boyfriend Ben seem less thoughtful and more like a love bombing stage five clinger? Jack and Rebecca cue up Hector Berlioz’s Symphonie Fantastique and consider if that 24% is fair or foul.

Content consideration: this episode includes adult language and themes of abuse and violence.

When you were ten years old, if you weren't staying up late, eating Pizza Hut personal pan pizzas and watching The Hand That Rocks the Cradle on VHS at a sleepover with all your friends, what were you doing? In this trashy thriller, Claire (Annabella Sciorra) and her doofus husband Michael hire Peyton, (Rebecca De Mornay), the seemingly perfect nanny, to help them as they welcome a second child into their picture perfect home. Unbeknownst to them - but so obvious to their handyman Solomon (a show stealing Ernie Hudson, and yes we’ll attempt to unpack the power dynamics around that relationship) and Claire's bestie Marlene (a fabulous, cigarette smoking, red lipstick wearing Julianne Moore) - Peyton is a tragically barren and psychotically vengeful killer. Why doesn’t Claire do a background check on Peyton, what’s with the multiple references to H.M.S. Pinafore, why were the 1990s teeming with movies about threats to American domesticity, and why did preteen girls have a tendency to gravitate toward them? Grab a slice while we work it out.

Han Solo and Indiana Jones were well established cinematic heroes when Witness was put into heavy VHS rotation at the Fons household. But in Peter Weir’s crime drama, Harrison Ford didn’t need a Millennium Falcon or a bullwhip to make a strong impression.

As Philly detective John Book, assigned to protect Amish mother Rachel (Kelly McGillis) and her son who witnessed the murder of an undercover cop, Ford’s performance – for which he received his first and only Academy Award nomination – is perfectly pitched for a role that is equal parts vulnerable and brash.

Foggy childhood memories of the film conjure a horrifying corn silo death, an Amish barn raising, and the “weird by why not” casting of Patti Lupone as John Book’s sister. Revisiting Witness decades later, Rebecca and Jack examine the nuance of Ford’s performances; the swooning, unconventional romance between Book and Rachel; and ask: is this a rare “perfect movie,” or is Rebecca wearing Harrison Ford-colored glasses?

The Pelican Brief doesn’t sound all that thrilling: a young college student writes an academic paper theorizing about who is responsible for the murders of two Supreme Court Justices, implicating a dangerous business man. Research! Typing! Microfiche!

But starring A-listers Julia Roberts and Denzel Washington and with director Alan J. Pakula (All the President’s Men, The Parallax View) adapting Mr. Airport-Read-John-Grisham’s bestseller, the film became a box office smash, and a teenage Rebecca found herself briefly (!!) obsessed with a movie about a scholarly essay. While there aren’t any actual pelicans in the cast, this 1994 legal thriller brings ensemble heat: Stanley Tucci, Sam Shepard, John Heard, Tony Goldwyn, John Lithgow.

Rebecca and Jack interrogate if the film works as a thriller (our math maths at 70% cumbersome legal dialogue to 30% action sequences), review the refreshingly platonic chemistry between Roberts and Washington, and how while it ain’t as taut and atmospheric as Pakula’s paranoia classics of the 1970s, The Pelican Brief must have done something special with all those floppy disks to keep Rebecca coming back for countless rewatches in the 1990s.

The patriarchy enjoys regular energy injections from cinema (see: the James Bond franchise, Roadhouse, My Fair Lady). John Hughes gave it a big shot in the arm in 1985 with Weird Science.

Anthony Michael Hall and Ilan Mitchell-Smith star as uber losers Gary and Wyatt, who – with Playboy, Frankenstein, and bras as headwear – make a “perfect woman” they name Lisa (Kelly LeBrock).

With the help of Lisa, Gary and Wyatt stick up for themselves, gain confidence, and get girlfriends, evolving from boys to…somewhat older boys. Along the way they engage in some nonchalant racism, frequent homophobia, and rampant misogyny.

Weird Science was a big one for Rebecca, who watched it when it played perpetually on basic cable. It was also big for everybody (except for Jack, apparently, who somehow missed the film entirely).

Rebecca and Jack steel themselves for this specimen that has not aged well, interrogating a film that scrutinizes bodies as a plot point, and how it may have negatively impacted the self image of young cinephiles across the land. Is there someone to blame for that damage (it isn’t Lisa, she’s amazing), or is Weird Science a film we should simply chalk up to a sign of the times?