The Adam Sandler Support Group
Through time and perseverence, people are slowly learning to escape the ugly grasp of Sandler’s 2006 movie
“When I walked into the room that day… I had no idea what I was getting into,” explained the man, his eyes tired and worn, and his hoodie soiled and tattered.
His five o’clock shadow looked like Christmas lights that had lingered into February. He was hunched over in a plastic chair with arms reflectively folded. He refused to make eye contact with any of the other guests seated in that captive-listening circle.
Behind the man, a water cooler meekly dripped. It sat beside a coffee maker and underneath a tall ceiling fixed with dimly lit fluorescent lights that flickered gently. A few of the rods had already gone out.
At the center of the circle sat a gentleman who appeared to be the most receptive listener of all. He looked toward the man in the hoodie, nodding his head subtly with laser-focused pupils. He wore a plaid shirt, shorts with a few too many pockets, and a name tag that read, “Mark.”
“And then what happened?” Mark asked kindly. But there was a weight to the question.
“I — I walked into the lobby and it smelled like popcorn… we — we were there to see Click with Adam Sandler and — and — ” he stammered for a moment. “We were only kids!” he continued again before breaking into tears.
A hand touched down on his shoulder. “I was only seven when I saw Click,” a nurturing voice came in to console the man as he sobbed quietly onto his sleeve. She spoke unsurely. Unkempt bangs hung down from her face and teetered from side to side above sweatpants with cigarette holes. “My dad said, ‘it’s just an Adam Sandler movie, what’s the worst that could happen?’” At this, the woman struggled to contain tears herself.
A third man, seated slightly apart from the rest, shuffled uncomfortably in his chair. The weight of his experience was etched indelibly into the lines that stretched across his forehead. He wore a crisp business suit with an unattended stain and a tie that hung askew.
“I was 32 when I saw Click,” he began, his voice shaking slightly. “I had heard the jokes, knew some of the plot. Thought it’d be a nice movie night with my girlfriend, to tell you the truth.” He took a deep breath, the pain evident in his defeated stare. “I wasn’t prepared. Not for that.”
Clearing his throat, he continued. “I’m an adult, for God’s sake. I deal with mergers, acquisitions, million-dollar deals on a daily basis. But Click? It broke me to my very core. That damn remote made me question every decision I ever made. Should I have taken that job? Moved to this city? Started dating Jess? Spent more time with my grandpa?” He shook his head, overwhelmed.
“After the movie, I couldn’t even look my girlfriend in the eyes. Jess just wanted to discuss the funny scenes, but all I could think of was Are we fast-forwarding through our lives? Are we missing the real moments? Is life fleeting — is — is all we have these short few moments where we’re together?”
The man looked around at the room and then down again, trying to stifle tears. “She said it was just a movie. But for me, it was so much more than that…”
Mark, the group leader, took a deep and professorial breath, allowing emotions to quietly simmer. The only sound that could be heard was the soft murmur of the room’s occupants and the distant hum of the dim fluorescents.
The smell of cheap coffee beans floated faintly through the air. He adjusted himself in his seat and then began to speak, his voice equal parts soft-spoken and commanding.
“Each one of us in this room has been touched by Click in a way we never anticipated…” he began, allowing the words to hover. “It might seem weird… or even stupid… to the outside world, but here, in this room, we understand the way that Adam Sandler movie made us question ourselves — and the course of our lives,” Mark began. It was clear he had struggled deeply in the aftermath of the movie as well.
Mark looked around, catching the eyes of each participant. “I was only ten when Click came out,” he grabbed the coffee mug that sat beside it and clutched it serenely within his hands. “I was with my two best friends, and the day was rainy,” he continued. Every eye in the room turned toward him.
“We’d seen the trailers — the corny jokes… the time traveling remote… the bouncing boobs… we just expected an afternoon of fun. But then, so did we all. So did we all…” Mark paused for another moment.
“We didn’t expect that we’d have to question our very existence in the theater that day… we just wanted a good old Adam Sandler movie. We didn’t want our first taste of cosmic despair and the ephemerality of all life. Like so many, we just wanted to see fart jokes… it was supposed to be the perfect afternoon.”
Mark took a sip from his coffee as his words slowly penetrated each and every CC member in the room. “You’re not alone. We’re not here to judge you. That’s not what Click Confidence is about. It’s about how we process what we consume… and how we make sense of life’s unexpected blows. It’s about realizing that we’re not alone in our feelings and that it’s okay to seek support from those who — ” he stammered. “Those who’ve gone through the same things we have.”
Mark leaned forward, emerging cathartically from his Sandler-laden despair. “Your experience with Click may have left its scars, but remember this: every day, you have the power to press ‘play’ in your life…”
At this, many of the room’s congregants broke out in tears. “… To live fully, and to find joy in the simple things. Don’t let Adam Sandler define your future as he defined your past.” The few whose eyes remained dry had allowed the floodgates to open.
Mark smiled a reassuring smile. As the meeting drew to a close, he handed out Dollar General-purchased Click remotes to the attendees. “Remember, you have the power to press ‘play,’” he repeated pastorially to each member.
“In the weeks to come, I plan to touch on some of the other movies that have traumatized us in life. Next week we’ll be starting with ‘The Lion King.’ So remember to brace yourself, ladies and gentlemen, because this one’s a doozy,” Mark announced brightly as he completed his circle.
With the meeting concluded, congregants funneled free from the room and out into a world that suddenly felt less plagued by Adam Sandlers.