Like many people, I love those ads Nicole Kidman did for AMC Theatres. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, they play before the movie starts, and they became kind of an online sensation when they were first released. (Go treat yourself on YouTube.) The ads are a schmaltzy love letter to cinema, with writing so overwrought — and a performance so committed — that they go all the way around the bend from embarrassment to inspiration. I think that people like them because the delivery is silly but the message is true: Movies do take us somewhere we’ve never been before, as Kidman says — not just entertained, but somehow reborn.
The older I get, the more I look to movies as a source of spiritual nourishment, even (and sometimes especially) the ones that don’t seem like high art. It feels invigorating and healthy to experience the revelation of empathy in unexpected places, to laugh, to gasp as Tom Cruise clings to the outside of an airplane. Life only gets more and more complicated, and it can be nice to disappear into another world for a few hours. Sometimes you really need to vacate your reality in order to cope with it when you return.
Over the last few months, I’ve started keeping a list of period movies, by which I mean movies to watch when I’m besieged by menstrual cramps. I don’t love writing about this because I feel truly pathetic on these days, and while I don’t mind being pathetic in front of myself, I don’t relish putting the image in your heads. There’s groaning and lurching, and, often, tears shed. Despite my professional training, I don’t have great words to describe the pain: Searing isn’t quite right, and aching is too soft. A searing ache? The cramps seem to emanate from some hellish kingdom below the earth’s crust, and they sometimes make me wonder if I should just hire a priest for a good old fashioned exorcism.
The secular experts suspect endometriosis — suspect because surgery would be required for official confirmation. Last year, I saw a doctor for another issue, and at the end of our visit, she told me that she was much more interested in the period pain that I had described. She sent me off for a consultation with a specialist, who, after an exam and a chat, concluded that I almost certainly have endometriosis.
Because it’s a Disease For Women, endometriosis is vastly underdiagnosed and understudied, even though it’s actually quite common. (Resources usually put it at 10% of people with a uterus, but then again, it’s underdiagnosed.) No previous gynecologist had flagged my period pain as unusual — assholes! — so I genuinely thought my experience was normal. My mom and sister both have a history of terrible cramps, too. I figured that most people I knew were experiencing some kind of hormonal interference from birth control, and that, left to their own rhythms, they would all be maxing out the allowed dosage of Aleve and Tylenol, cancelling plans because they couldn’t walk down the sidewalk without doubling over, and spending hours balled up on the sofa.
When I told this to the specialist, she shook her head and made a face so full of doctorly pity that it’s funny to me now. No, not normal.
Even though the pain is real and my current doctors aren’t minimizing it, I have some imposter syndrome about the diagnosis of probable endometriosis. After all, I might not have it. If I do, I seem to have a relatively mild case. When I searched for “celebrities with endometriosis" in the wee hours of one sleepless night, I learned that Padma Lakshmi used to miss days of school each month due to her endometriosis pain. I love Padma. Look at what she’s achieved! I, on the other hand, am only cursed with 24 hours of misery. I know: Comparing pain is unhelpful to everyone involved. I know: Mild is still awful in this situation. Nevertheless, the temptation to caveat my own experience is strong.
I’m exploring some new options for mitigating the pain, now that I have an idea of what’s likely going on, but I spent years before the diagnosis fine-tuning my period protocols. I’ve got my heat pads and my hip-opener stretches, and I know exactly how many painkillers I’m allowed to take in the course of 24 hours. Still, there are always long stretches of time when I just have to deal with the pain. The meds can take ages to kick in, and after they do, I often only get a few hours of relief before the cramps break down the door. In these moments, I just need to distract myself. So I turn to movies.
A good period movie needs enough action to hold my focus, but not so much that it’s in any way agitating — it’s of the utmost importance that nothing onscreen reminds me of what’s happening inside my body. Phantom Thread is a great period piece, for instance, but it is not a very good period movie. There’s too much yelling, and I don’t need to see Daniel Day-Lewis sweating and vomiting while I’m trying not to do the same. Instead, I want something cozy and comforting. Maybe something that will make me cry a little. Maybe not. I have to feel it out on the day.
A good period movie looks inviting and beautiful, so, yes, a Nancy Meyers kitchen is ideal. Absolutely no guns, no explosions, no blam blam anything. It must end on a happy or satisfying note — by which point, ideally, the cramps have eased and I’m able to rejoin my life, not just entertained, but somehow reborn.
Like Nicole Kidman, I mean that sincerely. I’m deeply grateful — almost religiously so — when I realize that the worst of the pain has passed. I know it will come back next month. But in those moments, it’s enough for it to be gone, for now.
Here’s my shortlist of tried-and-true period movies, which are also good for low days, blue days, cold days, and sick days. Yes, there are rom-coms. Clichés are cliché for a reason, baby!
Julie & Julia
An all-timer. It’s Nora Ephron. It’s butter. It’s Paris. It’s Stanley Tucci’s best performance as Julia Child’s doting husband, Paul. It won’t cure you, but it will come close.
(Don’t worry about the parts with Amy Adams. You’ll return to Meryl Streep soon enough.)
When Harry Met Sally
AN ALL-TIMER. IT’S NORA EPHRON. IT’S MALLOMARS. IT’S NEW YORK. A good period movie benefits from characters who serve as mood stabilizers for our protagonists, and thus, mood stabilizers for us. In Julie & Julia, it’s Tucci’s Paul Child. In When Harry Met Sally, it’s Carrie Fisher’s Marie.
Basically all Nora Ephron movies, but not This Is My Life
Too much family strife.
The Birdcage
I loved this movie as a kid and rewatched it recently. Nathan Lane’s character would be written very differently today, but it has the perfect ratio of heart, hijinks, and comedy for menstrual moments.
Spirited Away
Comforting but also a little harrowing — sweet and salty — so you have to be really honest about your mood before embarking. If you’re feeling nihilistic and angry about your situation but want to scrabble your way to more neutral territory, this will help. Ditto Howl’s Moving Castle. (Kiki’s Delivery Service is nice for a more gentle mood.)
The Intern
I believe I watched Nancy Meyers’s The Intern on the same night that I invented my patented Period Pain Scale. One frowny face = not as bad as expected. Two frowny faces = exactly as bad as expected. Three frowny faces = tears were shed. The frowny faces used to be stars, but Alex convinced me that more stars seemed to suggest a more glorious experience, rather than new magnitudes of pain.
Anyway, this was a three frowny face day. I was moaning on the couch, and Alex gently suggested that maybe I could try distracting myself with a movie. He fixed me a bowl of pasta with red sauce while I fired up The Intern, which I’d never seen before. Oh my god, what a beautiful and moving story of intergenerational friendship! While I was busy weeping into the couch cushions, the Aleve started working. By the time the movie was over, I was feeling okay again.
The Snowman
Not the “mister police officer I gave you all the clues” Michael Fassbender movie. The 25-minute, dialogue-free animated film, available on YouTube. I loved it as a kid. Even now, it makes me feel quiet, sedate, and as smooth-brained as a koala.
All of Taylor Tomlinson’s comedy specials
I’ve watched Taylor Tomlinson’s three Netflix specials many times over. (And wrote about her for the Times last year, wouldn’t you know.) Last Sunday, I was awoken by heinous cramps at 3 a.m., and spent the next two hours whimpering and puttering around the living room while I waited for my meds to start working. I tried watching a Nikki Glaser special because I liked her at the Golden Globes, but I quickly realized that blowjob comedy simply would not do. Gag. So I put on Tomlinson’s 2022 special, Look at You. She jokes about being out of control in a way that is very polished and in control — a comforting combination in a low moment.
Ratatouille
Ratatouille is a miracle. Thank god for Ratatouille.
I’m building out my period movies list on Letterboxd, so feel free to follow along in the coming months. I’m planning to test out Sister Act, Center Stage, and In the Mood for Love soon. (In the Mood for Love might be too languorous to be an effective distraction, but it’s so gorgeous that it’s worth a shot.) And if you would like to offer your own recommendations for movies that ease bodily pain — or mental anguish — please do so in the comments and I’ll add them to my Letterboxd list! Let’s help each other out.
Crampishly,
Eliza
PS — On the flip side, if you’re after a feel-bad movie that will also make you laugh, I highly recommend Hard Truths. It’s a small-scale drama about a woman who is drowning, emotionally, and copes by pulling her family down with her. For me, it provoked a kaleidoscope of shifting feelings: Gratifying recognition (we all know someone whose bad mood overpowers a room), alarming self-recognition (wait, am I sometimes that person?), and a surge of empathy and sadness (who among us has not gazed into the abyss?!).
Not a fun watch, per se, but a great dose of Vitamin M (movie).
Have added all of your wonderful ideas to the Letterboxd list! (And will continue doing so!)
https://letterboxd.com/elizapbrooke/list/period-films/
THE INTERN SHOULD BE PRESCRIBED BY DOCTORS. Also Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day.