What We Share in the Dark

Our youngest son compelled us to attend the IMAX screening of Mission Impossible: Final Reckoning over the rainy Memorial Day weekend. Rob and I rarely venture to theaters, preferring our couch and easy chair with a handy remote for strategic snack breaks. But we've caught a few MI films theatrically, and the franchise's dramatic action and special effects justify the outing.

Final Reckoning could have benefited from a more ruthless editor, but delivered the promised high-stakes action. In one unbearably tense sequence, Ethan Hunt (Tom Cruise) tumbles around an unstable submarine 500 feet beneath the surface. I had to avert my eyes to keep my heart rate within reasonable bounds, and scanning our fellow theatergoers, I found every gaze locked on the screen—hands covering mouths, chewing suspended, bodies leaning forward as the music swelled.

The shared reactions reassured me because I often wonder if I'm alone in my responses. This collective experience somehow amplified my emotion, making it harder to dismiss the action as "just a movie." I looked around again near the film's end when Ving Rhames' character, Luther Stickell, speaks through a recording. His words prove inspiring and uplifting, and this time I watched hands rise to wipe away tears, heads nodding as the message echoed through the theater:

"Any hope for a better future comes from willing that future into being, a future reflecting the measure of good within ourselves. And all that is good inside us is measured by the good we do for others. We all share the same fate—the same future, the sum of our infinite choices. One such future is built on kindness, trust and mutual understanding, should we choose to accept it, driving without question towards a light we cannot see—not just for those we hold close but for those we'll never meet." —MI: Final Reckoning

More inspiring than most graduation addresses or recent political rhetoric, these words resonated beyond the theater's sound system. The writers seemed to speak directly to millions of moviegoers, asking us to consider what future we create daily, what world we want to inhabit. Observing the theater, many appeared equally moved, amplifying the effect. When the credits rolled, we applauded—something movie audiences once did routinely. My son stared wide-eyed, having never witnessed this ritual. Perhaps we needed that applause because we all crave shared experiences and inspiration.

The irony isn't lost on me that I found this connection in a darkened theater, surrounded by strangers, while working to maintain deeper friendships in my actual life. But sometimes the most unexpected moments remind us what we're missing—and what remains possible when we're willing to be moved together.