The Husband Who Inhales Movies, The Wife Who Climbs Them

For a long time, I have been the type of person who 'climbs' movies.

What kind of scenery is it? Will I be able to enjoy it properly? Will I get stranded? I check things out to some extent beforehand (sometimes even the ending), and I prepare myself to take on the challenge with a foolproof plan. Then, while adjusting my mood and physical strength, I face it firmly, step by step. Honestly, if you don't have the stamina, you can't watch a movie.

Watching a movie in a theater is even more grueling.
My body cannot handle the stimulation, the dark circles under my eyes deepen, and my breathing becomes shallow. It is common for me to feel seven years older after finishing a film.

This is the deciding factor for whether or not I will make the trip to the cinema.

As a result, in the eight years since my child was born, I have stopped watching new movies for my own sake. I think, quite simply, my stamina has also declined.

Goodbye, cultural mountaineering. Goodbye, beautiful landscapes that stimulated my values and emotions—

In the midst of such days, there was the sudden arrival of 'National Treasure'.
This movie is a bit strange. One acquaintance after another has had their heart pierced by the spectacular scenery, and the public buzz is absolutely incredible.

I wonder how beautiful the scenery is. I'm curious. If it's a magnificent view that drives people into a frenzy, I want to feel it with my whole body. But when, exactly? What should I do with my three children?

Then one day, my husband said, 'I'm going to see "National Treasure" next week, so if you want to come, I'll get you a ticket.'

What's more, he had already taken paid leave, intending to watch it leisurely on a weekday.

I was happy, wondering if my husband was a psychic, but at the same time, I felt conflicted. Should I really take time off work to go? And it's three hours long. This isn't an invitation for a hike; it's an invitation to climb Mount Fuji. I'm worried about my stamina. But I'm so curious...

'I think it's important to secure some cultural time in the midst of raising children, you know.'
'Isn't it also important for your work to come into contact with things that have the power to drive people into a frenzy?'

In front of me, as I stared at the unmoving scales of my indecision, my husband tipped the balance.

I mumbled, 'Yeah, I know, but...', and my husband pressed on.

'Maybe I'll have a little drink at the soba kaiseki place nearby before the movie. It's my birthday, after all.'

That was it. The day in question was the day before my husband's birthday. If I were to celebrate my husband's birthday along with 'National Treasure', three hours might actually be short.

There is room for debate as to whether just sitting next to each other watching a movie counts as a celebration, but let's give it a try.

It's been eight years since we watched a movie together. A mountaineering date on his birthday—or rather, a movie date. Yeah, that's not bad.

And so, I steeled myself to throw my body into a three-hour movie and applied for paid leave.

===

After a 40-minute drive and enjoying a soba kaiseki meal, it was time! We headed off to climb Mount Fuji.

This time, I deliberately didn't look up the plot or the ending. Since the reviews around me were so high, I decided to just go with the flow.
Kabuki, Ryo Yoshizawa. With that level of equipment and information, I aimed for a fairly grueling mountain.


Even though I was clutching an oxygen tank in the form of a premium seat, I was driven to a near-death state within 10 minutes of the movie starting.

A painful scene involving the protagonist born into a yakuza family. My high level of empathy, which makes me feel pain when I'm near a child with a stomachache, completely backfired. I really should have looked it up. I didn't know there would be bloodshed... (I'm not good with that).

I tightly bound my wound with a towel and glared at the summit.

...I'm going forward.
To see the scenery that can only be experienced there.

Beauty, resentment, poignancy, and awe. As I climb the rocky mountain step by step, my breath catches at every turn. ...Um, was this a mountain where you could return home alive?

I was running low on both blood and oxygen.
I wanted to reach out and ask my husband for help, but I was blocked by the heavy premium seat, and I couldn't even see his arms, let alone his face.

Even if I shouted 'Yoo-hoo, husband!' in my heart, he wouldn't give me so much as a peep in response. It was an incredibly harsh and lonely birthday date.

"Whew, that was worth watching. We still have some time, so let's go grab a coffee."

Three hours later, my husband, who had descended the mountain with light steps, pointed to the cafe next to the movie theater.

Coffee? You've got to be kidding me.
I have just barely survived a grueling mountain climb. First, give me blood. Then, give me plenty of oxygen. We can talk after that.

Seeing me shake my head while still stiff as a board and trying to hurry home, my husband laughed and said, "You never change, do you."

Come to think of it, I was driven to a near-death state on my first date with my husband before we were even a couple. Through a strange turn of events, we ended up watching "Moteki" at a movie theater in Roppongi. For someone like me who preferred indie theaters and old Japanese films, climbing into "Moteki" without any preparation was a series of shipwrecks (the movie itself was interesting).

I think the fact that we were in the second row from the front didn't help either. For those of us who aren't good with movie theaters, that's a suicidal seating arrangement.

It's no wonder my husband was shaken to see me completely exhausted after the screening. As a date, it was undoubtedly a failure.

However, fate is a mysterious thing, and the future isn't built only on successes. That night, he and I became lovers and took the first step as partners in destiny.

In the eight-mat movie theater that was his apartment in Yoyogi, we began to watch movies frequently. Even though his fridge only contained Premium Malts and cherry tomatoes, his room was always overflowing with movies.

My husband doesn't climb movies. He doesn't wear hiking boots or any equipment at all. He watches movies as naturally as he breathes.

He might start watching a movie in the middle of the night, only to fall asleep with the screen still on. His viewing style was shocking to me, as I was someone who believed in engaging with films intently; it felt terribly free and like a 'delinquent act'.

"Is it really okay to watch movies like that?" I asked, chiding him, and my husband furrowed his brows in confusion.

"Why not? Movies are just entertainment. You're trying too hard."

As if that were true.
At first, I resisted his argument quite a bit. I even felt disgust at his flippancy in not respecting the artistry of film.

However, when I tried watching movies by his side, it was, indeed, quite relaxing. I learned in that cramped eight-mat movie theater the value of B-movies that can be watched without defenses, the high entertainment value of Hollywood films I hadn't touched much, and how just right a live-action adaptation of a shojo manga can be on a day when you're completely exhausted.

Even on days when I don't have the energy to consume a movie, he prescribes one according to the situation. My husband taught me the joy of light-hiking movies.

So, how was the movie?

On the way home, while I was still unable to relax my stiff body after holding my breath, my husband asked for my thoughts on "National Treasure".

When you critique a film, you are also being critiqued by it. It tests your humanity, your capacity for emotion, and the richness of your heart.

...It hurt. At the beginning. My body just tensed up right then and there, so I was in a terrible state to take on the film.

Shallow and immature. A critique that misses the essence entirely. But I can speak honestly and without pretense to my husband, no matter what I think.

Your strike zone for movies is way too narrow, he said with a laugh, and continued. That scene was good, wasn't it? Why did that character act that way there? Ah, I see, if you interpret it that way, it certainly makes sense—

As we talked, the immature pieces gradually took shape, and the essence began to reveal itself. This view is also quite nice. Perhaps the time spent sharing thoughts after watching a movie is a kind of mountain climbing in itself.

Listening to his thoughts, I vaguely remembered the way home from our first date. That nostalgic road home, where we recovered from the fatigue of hiking with the breeze in Aoyama, talking about how incredibly cute Masami Nagasawa was and that genius cut of Hisami Aso eating a beef bowl at Yoshinoya with a big mouthful.

After we had exhausted our thoughts, my husband muttered, We probably couldn't have shared thoughts like this when we first started dating. Perhaps he, too, was pulling the warmth of that first date from the depths of a faint memory.

The car stops frequently at a series of red lights. The road is a bit crowded, but we should make it in time for daycare pickup.

Come to think of it, there was a scene I thought might be an homage. Do you want to watch that one tonight?

Ah, no thanks.

That was a quick answer.

I'm good on movies for a while. I can tolerate a special three-hour film, but a two-hour one that isn't special still requires a certain level of resolve to tackle. Whether it's at a theater or at home, that doesn't change.

Will my husband watch another movie tonight? In the dead of night when countless breaths have stilled, all by himself. As if inhaling it, as if it were nothing, defenselessly. I will likely fall asleep feeling his breath from afar.

You never change, do you...

My husband grumbled, checked that the light had turned green, and quietly pressed the accelerator. No, no, you're the one who never changes. What do you mean, watching a two-hour movie after a three-hour epic?

The wind passes by outside the window. My husband says nothing, gripping the steering wheel and looking ahead.

Soft air spreads through my lungs, and I have fully regained my blood and oxygen. I take a deep breath and exhale everything with a sigh.

The air, now with momentum, gently brushes my husband's cheek. The car had started moving quietly again. Toward our daily life, slowly and straight ahead.