My tweens are loving Jim Carrey movies and I can't bear it

"What should have been a fun bonding thing during the school holidays has left me wondering who I'm raising?"

I hate the term ‘ick’. I hate the way the word sounds, the way it is used and what it means (because who likes to feel disgusted?) But when it comes to comedian, Jim Carrey, ick is the perfect way to describe how I feel about him.

Okay, honestly, I don’t know the man personally. I have never met him and most likely never will, so sorry Jim if you are actually a lovely guy and don’t bring the ick in person. But your persona, especially through your films and your comedy, well ICK.

Trying to pinpoint exactly what it is that stirs up this concoction of frustration, reactive shuddering and the simultaneous urge to vomit is hard, but I think it mostly comes from the way OTT facial expressions, the voices and just really absurd one-liners that come out of his mouth.

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"My husband feels the opposite"

None of it I find funny or even slightly amusing and it makes me want to throw things at the television screen which I know will achieve nothing good.

Despite my extremely strong negative feelings about Jim Carrey, my husband feels the opposite (and knowing this I still married him and yes, after nearly 14 years of saying I do we are still married).

In that time, we have also brought two intelligent, amazing daughters into the world who are now entering their tweenhood. And what better time, so my husband thought than to introduce what he deems to be movie classics, like The Mask.

So, over the long weekend, my husband sat down with our daughters and hit play to watch Jim Carrey in his yellow suit and fluoro green mask whiz around the screen, contorting and stretching his body in questionable positions while ridiculous visual effects showed his jaw fall open and tongue hang out while ogling Cameron Diaz’s character. Oh, and then turn into a wolf panting and have his eyes pop out of his eye sockets.

When this happened my tween girls (aged 9 and 10) cringed because sex and romance are yuck right now. When this reaction occurred, I smiled and nearly fist-pumped because I thought, yes, these are my girls.

But. Yes, there’s a but. As the film went on, outside of the questionable and dare I say it, overt sexism of the film, they smiled and then the unthinkable happened, they laughed. They laughed a lot.

Image: Supplied

"I needed to get on top of this pronto"

They laughed at the mock death scene as he won his Oscar and made his acceptance speech, at the flattened Mask peeling himself off the road and tooting his horn that shattered the front window of the disgruntled driver and as the police arresting him began to empty his pockets only to find they are endlessly filled with random objects from autographed photos to a giant bazooka they just couldn’t get enough.

As they laughed (almost as loudly as my husband) at the absurdity of all of the scenes that made me roll my eyes, a wave of something I quite couldn’t put my finger on came over me.

Confusion? Had I brought the wrong children home at the hospital? Guilt? Had they hit their head on something recently and were suffering a mild concussion? Worry? Did I need to seek out a child psychologist for some deeply engrained (potentially something genetic) trauma? Anger? Had my ick manifested from an annoyance into something bitter?

To be honest, I wasn’t sure exactly what it was but what I did realise then and there was that I needed to get on top of this pronto before I have not just one but three family members cracking unfunny jokes like, “I’m smoking” all the time.

So, I did as any parent would do. I didn’t express my true feelings about their appreciation of Dad’s film choice, but I encouraged them to watch mine, a more sensible, coming-of-age, yet quality and timeless film, My Girl.

Image: Supplied

"I am officially dead inside"

As we sat there together and I watched Vada and Thomas J ride around together on their bikes, knowing soon his young little life would be taken by a swarm of angry bees, I got nostalgic and warm and fuzzy inside (not specifically about the dying part) as it reminded me of my youth.

But when I turned to my girls about halfway through to see their reactions, they looked at me and said, “Mum, this is boring. Can we watch another Jim Carrey movie instead?”

And that is when I realised what that feeling was from earlier, defeat. My tweens have inherited their dad’s love for Jim Carrey and I am officially dead inside.

Originally published as My tweens are loving Jim Carrey movies and I can't bear it