After seeing the trailer yesterday for the latest Mission Impossible movie, Heidi declared that we should watch the previous six before catching the seventh on July 12. Why not? I thought, but as I searched our streaming options, I proposed that we watch number six first, and then work our way backward.
"I don't think we've seen that one," I said, "so there's that."
Heidi agreed, and as we watched the opening scene, I was certain I was right: there was nothing familiar about the primitive cabin Ethan Hunt was holed up in, or the messenger who came to his door. And I undoubtedly did not recall any of the exchanged codewords or the mission description on the reel-to-reel tape which predictably self-destructed in five seconds.
But when, in the next scene, the deal for three orbs full of plutonium went sideways because Hunt would not sacrifice a member of his team, a tiny neuron in the back of my memory fired, and by the time Angela Bassett and Henry Cavill were on screen, I knew we had seen the movie, and I even recalled several vital details about the plot.
Soon I was recalling a hot summer day, and a third person with us at the theater, but when and who? Conveniently, my movie theater rewards membership keeps a record of all the movies I have seen in their theaters, and it didn't take much to scroll back several years to July 30, 2018, when we saw the movie at noon. Next, I clicked through the archive of this very blog to find that it was Josh who went with us. He was still living in the area, and having a flare-up of his chronic IBS, so we got him to come to stay with us for a week so that we could nurse him back to health.
I think I dozed off not long after that, secure in my refreshed five-year-old memories, but a little bored by the movie whose novelty had been negated.
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