Letter From thenHeartlandnby Jane GreernWalt Disney Rolls Over innHis GravenFun for the whole family, the ad for thenmovie said. (I was relieved to know thatnit wasn’t zany or lafF-packed, althoughnlater I would have settled for that.) Ournkids, then eight and 13, deserved ancelebration for lasting through the finalnday of school before Christmas vacation,nso, loaded with grotesque candynand Cokes, we took in StevennSpielberg’s inevitable Christmas offering,n*Batteries Not Included.nThe movie was made for kids, withnobvious good guys and bad guys, annearly hint of what everyone over sixnknows will turn into a romance, andnthe cutest little doe-eyed flying aliennsoup cans to hit the big screen sincenE.T. came out of the closet. Goodnclean fun. Watching our kids giggle,nmy husband and I smiled at each othernin self-congratulation: we should donthis more often.nAnd then the gigantic paintednbreasts lit up the screen and hung therenfor what seemed forever.nThe movie wasn’t about breasts. Itnwas about love and fidelity and determination.nAnd yet someone making ansalary in the high seven figures thoughtnit necessary to move in for a 27-secondnclose-up of that painting, those breastsnLnlooming larger than Volkswagens.nWe’re to blame, I guess. We put thenkids in the car and took them there.nLast year, near the beginning ofnHarry and the Hendersons, a trulyngentle movie, the film-family’s youngnson shouted, “Holy s—t.” Our son,nwho can’t remember to turn ofi^ thenwater after he washes his hands (which,nadmittedly, isn’t often), rememberednthat word as we were driving home. Henreminded us that it was wrong, whichnwas gratifying, but for crying out loud,nwe took him to that movie. We wantednhim to see it. What’s a kid supposed tonthink?nThen there was the night when henwas suffering from chicken pox andnfeeling generally miserable. I rentednthe best medicine I could think of: anDisney movie about a baby dinosaur.nHe cuddled on my lap and watched (a)na savage human stabbing, (b) a babyndinosaur taken cruelly from his mother,n(c) a long scene where shots werenpumped into the mother dinosaur, (d)nher agonizing death as Baby watched,nand (e) endless minutes of full-backalnand half-frontal nudity culminating inn(f) a sweaty lovemaking scene. Thenperson who invented fast-forwardingndeserves a Nobel.nBut it’s still those breasts that fill menwith wonder. They were more gratuitousnand more disruptive than anythingnI’ve seen in months. It’s not as thoughnthey were designed to entice adultnmales into the theater: no one whonwould pay $4 to sit in the midst ofncrunching runts and nerds and (inevi-nThe Fourth Annual Erasmus LecturenBIBLICAL mXERPRETATIOM IN CRISISnOn the Question of the Toundations andnApproaches of Exegesis Todaynby Joseph Cardinal RatzingernPrefect of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith.nPresident of the International Theological Commission andnPontifical Biblical Commission.nTo order your copy of BIBLICAL IMTERPRETATION IM CRISIS send $2.50n(includes postage and handling) with the coupon below to: The RockfordnInstitute / 934 North Main Street / Rockford, Illinois 61103.nn Please send my copy of Joseph Cardinal llatzinger’s “BIBLICAL iriTERFRETATIOnnin CRISIS.”nn Enclosed is my check or money order for $2.50nnamenAddress.ncity State Zip.nMall to: The Rochord Institute / 934 M. Main St. / Rockford, IL 61103n42/CHRONICLESn”Jnnntably) in front of a kicker, just tonglimpse half a minute of a bad paintingnof breasts — no one who would do thisnis a major consideration of the moviemarketingnindustry.nSo why?nFor starters, moviemakers are prodigalnidiots. They used to have ourncomplete trust, and look what they’vendone with it. On the other hand, we’renthe ones who keep taking our kids tonsee these movies. We’re to blame fornnot squandering three hours andnspending upwards of $3.75 per personn(slightly less for a tape) to screen,nprivately, every film we think our childrennwould enjoy. Our only excuse isnthat life is short and kiddie art is longnand expensive, but if that’s what it takesnto be good parents, we should do it.n(How about a special ticket for parentsnwho want to screen movies, which willnget them in for free the second time ifnthey bring at least one child back withnthem? How about offering parents detailednwritten descriptions of movies?nHow about making “parental guidance”nmore of a realistic possibility, ifnit’s suggested by the movie’s rating?)nSomething’s been lost before I evernhad a chance to appreciate it. I remembernbeing loaded into the back of anstation wagon with my brother, both ofnus in our pajamas (and nobody wasnbuckled up!), to go to the drive-in withnour parents. It was Iowa summer, stillnhot and very light when we left thenhouse, and as the cicadas throbbed wenate homemade popcorn until dark,nwatched whatever was showing untilnwe got tired, and then lay on the foamnmy father had put in the back andnpunched each other until we fellnasleep. We didn’t go to the drive-innoften, but when we did it was annoccasion made even more special by itsnimpetuousness. Our parents were securenin their faith that Walt Disney ornJohn Wayne or Jerry Lewis would benall that the family hoped for, and more.nIt’s irresponsible for a parent to benimpetuous these days. I still love thenmovies, but now if one merely makesnme laugh or cry, I count it a success.nI’ve stopped hoping for whatever it wasnwe used to know we’d find. Integrity,nmaybe.nJane Greer’s first crush was onnMarlon Brando in The Young Lions.n