The Timeless Magic of Mrs. Doubtfire

So last night I watched Mrs. Doubtfire with Leila.  Dorian traveled in and out of the livingroom, playing with action figures, taking in a scene or two, but the suspense of whether Robin Williams’ character, Daniel, would get “caught” ultimately sent my sensitive 8-year-old from the room.

In case you need to be reminded, Mrs. Doubtfire is 1993 film is about a man, Daniel who is married to Miranda, played by Sally Field.  When she decides to divorce him, Daniel, an actor, is devastated.  Miranda is the clear villain of the film, and we see through a series of strokes of bad luck that Daniel’s character and mental stability is cast in a poor light to Miranda, the social worker, and ultimately the courts who rule that he can only see his children in small quantities.   Hilariously, Daniel pulls some hi-jinx and ends up disguised as an older woman and is hired by Miranda to be the housekeeper of his own house and after school caregiver to his own children.  This is the only way he is able to see his three kids, a daughter and son who are younger teenagers and a younger elementary age girl.

Throughout the film I watched my own 9-year-old daughter’s expression change from horror to amusement as the story unfolded.  This film is by now a classic, and I’m quite sure my adult daughters know the gist of the story, even if they’ve never sat down and watched it. (I certainly rarely stopped what I was doing when Hanna and Carly were younger to watch an entire movie with them.  They’ll testify to that.) Mrs. Doubtfire’s plot line is practically fairy-tale familiar.  Similar to how I felt while showing “Charlotte’s Web” to Leila several years ago, I cringed and celebrated with her through the twists and turns of these emotion-inducing scenes.  But Mrs. Doubtfire carries a special magic I didn’t see before now.

First, there are similarities between the Miranda/Daniel dyad and the dynamic between my ex-husband and I.  Due to factors beyond our control over the course of their short lives my children have been separated from their father twice for 6 months, once for 3 months and once for a month.  They now see him several weekends a month, but the personal struggles their dad faces along with the ongoing conflict between us is stressful.

In fact, a few weeks ago Dorian told me he wants a new life because he “just wants to be like everyone else with a mom and dad at home.”  Like letting your child watch those stress-inducing movie scenes, you cringe, and let your child walk through the inevitable sadness of having divorced parents.

In the decade before Mrs. Doubtfire, most family conflicts portrayed by American films existed between adults and teens (Footloose, Legend of Billy Jean, etc.) or the angst of young adulthood (The Outsiders, Stand By Me, Flashdance)–stop giggling at my movie references, you know they’re spot on.  Mrs. Doubtfire brought the 1-in-10 divorce reality to the screens at the end of our kids’ noses–screens that were much larger then than the screens of today.

During the movie both kids commented, “Hmm, the mom is like you.  She gets mad when the house is messy.  And she’s mad at the dad.”  And, “That dad is too silly.  Dad’s not silly.  But he gets in trouble a lot.”  And worst, [gulp], “Poor Daniel.  I feel bad for him all alone.  I feel bad for daddy, all alone when we’re not there.”  It is painful to witness your sensitive “feelings kid” live through a real life situation that requires a steely heart.

Dorian typically really puts his feelings out there: crying, meltdowns, “you’re not my mother” pledges when he’s angry.  He sends himself to his room and cries loudly, peeking out the door at me with one big teary eye to gauge my reaction.  Leila is a steel trap of emotion.  Other than the occasional and not so original sleight of foot used to trip her brother “It was an accident!”, Leila is largely impervious.  She will sometimes cry with hurt feelings in a response disproportionate to a comment made about the cleanliness of her fingernails.  And she sends herself to her room, as well.  But there she is silent and unimpressed and unmoved if I follow her.  She doesn’t talk much about her “divorced parents” feelings.  So, I really had no idea how this movie was effecting her.  But she was rapt.

At the end of the movie, our dearly departed and beloved Robin Williams in his wonderful and timeless role as Mrs. Doubtfire monologues to her television viewing audience, “You know, some parents, when they’re angry, they get along much better when they don’t live together. They don’t fight all the time, and they can become better people, and much better mummies and daddies for you. And sometimes they get back together. And sometimes they don’t, dear.”  I glanced over at Leila.  Unreadable expression.

She continues, “And if they don’t, don’t blame yourself. Just because they don’t love each other anymore, doesn’t mean that they don’t love you.”  Hmmm, I wondered…have I ever really delineated this for my kids?  Magical Mrs. Doubtfire says more, “There are all sorts of different families…Some families have one mommy, some families have one daddy, or two families. And some children live with their uncle or aunt. Some live with their grandparents, and some children live with foster parents. And some live in separate homes, in separate neighborhoods, in different areas of the country – and they may not see each other for days, or weeks, months… even years at a time.”  Leila’s steel blue eyes and baby face remained unreadable, “But if there’s love, dear… those are the ties that bind, and you’ll have a family in your heart, forever. All my love to you, poppet, you’re going to be all right… bye-bye”

And with that, my giant 9-year old launched herself into my lap, grabbed me around the neck and kissed me a thousand times on the cheek.

Thank you, Mrs. Doubtfire.  Thank you for stepping into our house last night and telling my daughter that everything is going to be okay.  Thank you for reminding her of what my words can only hollowly echo–that I love her, and that that she’s far from alone being a child with divorced parents.  Thank you for speaking into the heart of a little girl who doesn’t show where the hurt is so I can even apply the bandage of love properly.  Thank you, Robin Williams for your magic.