Maggie and the Ferocious Beast: How I Came to Love Classic Film

Before anyone who might be reading this looks at the title and says "asdjkf%#! How can you call classic film a ferocious beast?!", let me explain myself.  Did your elementary school teacher ever read Maggie and the Ferocious Beast to you? And then of course there was the obligatory TV series on Nick, Jr. And I think a movie was thrown in there somewhere, too. Perhaps I have a special affinity for it since the heroine shares my name, just like I felt particularly akin to Muggie Maggie in the third grade.

Anyway, Maggie is a little girl who befriends a ferocious beast who's really not ferocious at all and they go on lots of fun adventures together with a talking pig. Maybe I just always felt so happy when there was a character named Maggie (do you know what it's like to be a child and LOVE your name but never to be able to find it among those tacky name magnets and keychains?), but I feel Maggie's adventures with the Ferocious Beast parallel my relationship with classic film. How is that, you ask? And how dare I ever expect you to be able to make that inference based on that loose, rambling attempt at a metaphor?

I lovingly label classic film my ferocious beast because it's been a part of my life for so long that it's difficult to remember a time when I DIDN'T love old movies.  Furthermore, I liken them to the ferocious beast because although there is a large yet relatively hidden contingent of people about my age who love classic film just as much as I do, we seem to be outnumbered by our peers with a black-and-white film phobia. Now, this isn't always their fault. Not all of them are fortunate enough to have had mothers who planted and nurtured an appreciation of old movies from a young age. So there are many people who don't know the joy of watching an old, black-and-white (or glorious Technicolor) movie - and yes, it is a JOY - because they simply have never had that experience. However, it literally makes me cringe like Gloria Swanson in Sunset Blvd. when I hear someone say, "Oh, I don't want to watch that. It's in black and white! and has clearly been transported here by a league of bubonic rats!" Well, scratch the last part of that trite complaint. But still. To those people I say, after Norma Desmond exits my system and I regain my composure, "Pretty pleeeeeease give it a try?" Because although I can have my Margo Channing moments in the classroom in almost all other instances I am about as assertive as Mr. Peepers. Anyway, my long-winded point to all of this is that old movies, in the unknown, may seem like an outdated, scary, ferocious beast, but when you take the time to get to know them, they are cuddly, comforting, and terrific company. After all, it was Mrs. Miniver who aided my recovery after the traumatizing experience of getting all of my wisdom teeth pulled at once when I was a senior in high school.

So thank you, Greer Garson, and all of the other actresses, actors, and directors of Hollywood's Golden Age, who have provided me with comfort and amusement for the past however many years. The classic film, by the way, that first made me a true fan of Old Hollywood was Alfred Hitchcock's Rebecca. What's not to love about that?