Our family movie this weekend was “Where the Red Fern Grows“. Around half an hour in I had to skip out to deal with some
work-related stuff. By that point I had got the main idea: the movie is
about country folk in the 1930s Ozarks hunting coons with dogs. (As Tom
Wolfe asked Junior Johnson on first hearing about this sport: “What kind of
dogs?” JJ: “Coon dogs, I guess.”)
Well, I came downstairs a while later. The movie was near the end, and my
family were all blubbing. Even 9-yr-old Danny, who has inherited his Dad’s
aversion to sentimentality, was blubbing. It was a regular tearfest.
Extraordinary, in this household.
What happened? I inquired. “The dogs… the poor dogs… died… OH!
It’s so SAAAAAD!”
So if you like two hankie movies, there’s your next rental right there.