Just over a week ago, while on The Reel Insight Podcast, I was discussing Steven Spielberg’s A.I. At the time I mentioned my hang-up with the ending of the film, and specifically griped that the film could end three times before it finally does. As I said on that show, I’ve long believed that any of the three other “endings” would have been better than the ending Spielberg settled on.

The difference? The other three endings are bummers.

Tonight I rewatched UP IN THE AIR for the second or third time. It reminded me of the conversation I had about it – this time on my own podcast all the way back in episode two. Again, I believe that had the film shorted its ending a tad, and perhaps closed with the shot you see above, I might have liked it that much more. And once again – my proposed ending is a bummer.

What happened here? I grew up as the sort of guy who believed in love, laughter, and happily ever after. Where and when did I start getting drawn to the doom and gloom?

Is it because they feel “more real”? One could make a case for that, but then what does that say about real life? That happt endings don’t happen – that life inevitably sucks? That doesn’t make sense on a surface level…emotionally investing one’s self in a story that promises to end in certain doom. I know everybody loves a train wreck, but still.

I first started watching movies because they left me awe-struck and inspired. I believed in them the way that other kids believed in fairy tales. It was my roadmap on everything from places in the world to see to how to talk to girls. So where did this appetite for pain develop?

The only guess I can make is the schedenfreude I get from watching dreary stories, and how it makes me look at my own life and count my blessings. Heck, Mr. Bingham up there might be able to command a whole room with the way he talks and make a whole lot more cash than me doing it. But he’s sitting there alone in a strange town with only a glass of scotch to keep him company. I on the other hand get to turn to my right when I’m done hearing his tale, kiss the woman I never want to be without on the cheek and return to our cozy home.

The only real guess I can hazard is that a bummer of an ending is unexpected, and that it’s the unexpected that appeals to me instead of the depressing nature that comes along with.

Maybe that’s it – I don’t want to actually revel in Sandra Bullock not getting the guy in the end, I just want to be caught off-guard when it happens.