Last night I saw A Quiet Place, which is about Jim from The Office (aka John Krasinski) living in a post-alien invasion world with his wife and their mime school valedictorian children. No spoilers here: It’s in the trailer that the aliens are triggered by sound. So in order to stay alive, the family has to do everything they can to be perfectly silent at all times.
A Quiet Place does a pretty good job of reminding us how fucking loud we can be just living our lives. In A Quiet Place, a family meal is fraught with danger. Their dinner table is art directed to look like it was ripped, very quietly, millimeter by millimeter, from the pages of Martha Stewart Silent Living. The table overflows with steamed fish, artful bunches of soft herbs wrapped in artisanal yarn, and a bounty of mutely harvested vegetables from their garden. They even eat from kale leaves with their hands in lieu of plates and silverware, just to be safe. Picture The Swiss Family Robinson vs Predator.
The Silence of The Herbs was impressive, yet one seemingly overlooked detail had me clutching my pearls (felt of course, for safety): That’s a lot of fiber. Fiber equals farts. Oh shit, what happens if they have to fart?! I was stressed for this family, because while I can easily keep small talk to a minimum, my butt has a mind of its own. Shockingly, life-threatening flatulence never came up at all! No scenes of Jim from The Office teaching his son how to crack a stealthy booty bomb. No specially upholstered family fart bench. Nothing!
My suspension of disbelief can accommodate children who don’t whine incessantly, but an entire family who doesn’t fart? Pure fantasy.