KATHY SHAIDLE ON TERMS OF ENDEARMENT:

Not that some of Terms of Endearment‘s most ardent fans don’t rankle a bit, too. And these are, tellingly, mostly women with cancer themselves, who give the impression that they never write about anything else.

This one calls it “my favorite movie of all time.” (Since my tumors didn’t strike my brain, I’ll stick with Psycho, thanks. Hell, it isn’t even my favorite cancer movie; give me Dark Victory any day.)

She interprets Emma’s exasperated admonition — “It’s OK to talk about the cancer!” — as a campaign slogan, as if, almost 40 years later, cancer isn’t all anybody talks about. (I call it “Big Boob,” a subsidiary of the Bourgeois Disease Complex.)

What these women often leave out are Emma’s lines just before that one:

“I want you to tell them it ain’t so tragic! People do get better.”

Her cracking voice (and nervous, gawky gestures) are that of someone trying to convince herself of this, not so much her uncomprehending friend. Emma knows very well that some people don’t.

I can’t prove that Michael Gore’s poignant, tinkly, oh-so-Eighties piano score for the movie was created in a lab, for the express purpose of forcing you to cry — but can anyone prove it wasn’t? Regardless, Emma’s death scene, and that darn music, pushed me over the edge.

Of course I cried — I cry during bits of Galaxy Quest.

My husband was in the other room and I called to him.

“I wahjj’d da sad moobee!” I blubbered at him through a Kleenex.

I got the hug I wanted, then some advice.

Read the whole thing, even if like me, Terms of Endearment isn’t really your thing at the movies or the Blu-Ray player.