Last night I watched Gone With the Wind for what I later realized was the first time in at least six and a half years. I discerned this fact while trying to analyze why I bawled through virtually the whole thing. For a movie I’ve seen at least a dozen times, that struck me as a strange reaction…until I realized that I hadn’t seen it since (a) my brother died and (b) I got married. Why would these two events, which happened more than six and nearly five years ago, respectively, have sparked such a response? Well, I’ll tell you.
Why being married reduced me to a quivering ball of sobs throughout Gone With the Wind
Although I’ve read GWTW probably 10 times or more and seen the film even more than than, I never truly appreciated the heartbreaking dynamic of Rhett and Scarlett’s relationship. They were each so afraid of being hurt by the other that they never really allowed themselves to love fully — and thus hurt one another over and over again. The two parts that really got me were when Scarlett told him she didn’t want to have any more children (and, thus, never to have sex with her husband again, as she made abundantly clear immediately after that annoucement) and the morning after he sweeps her up the stairs and ravages her.
In the first, she’s being a petulant child. But the moment that wrenched something deep inside me was just after Rhett regained his composure following that statement. He told her he’d go elsewhere to meet his needs, sloshed some whiskey into a glass, and flung the tumbler at a life-size portrait of Scarlett after taking only a sip, clearly beside himself. And she simply didn’t care. I’m not sure which was harder to watch: her lack of real reaction to his obvious pain, or the extent to which that proclamation, that the woman he loved no longer wanted to make love to him, shook him to his core. I burst into tears. [click to continue…]
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