How a Shared Love for Classic Cinema Deepened Our Sugar Relationship

I studied literature in college with a minor in film studies. Which, I know what you’re thinking, and you wouldn’t be the first person to tell me that my degree is worthless. However, perhaps after hearing this story, you will change your perspective.

Whether or not my future degree was going to be worth something wasn’t on my mind while I was taking classes. I was too busy actually enjoying what I was studying. I would spend all day reading, and then in the afternoons, I would watch whatever movie was next on the syllabus. And then, I would go to a diner or the library and work on my coursework.

On Fridays, the best part of my week would happen: classic film screenings at the local cinema. This wasn’t for any class; this was just for me.

This cinema was one of the oldest buildings in town, and the sound quality was not great. Still, the old films always attracted a handful of movie-lovers who had nothing better to do on a Friday night.

No matter what was happening on campus, I never missed a screening. My friends knew that I would inevitably miss the pre-game and most of the party. When I would show up, straight from the theater, I would only want to talk about what I had just seen, which of course isn’t what most 21-year-olds are interested in talking about. It didn’t matter. I was happy.

It wasn’t until my senior year that I really thought about whether this major was going to get me anywhere once I graduated. I could see myself becoming a film critic someday, but money was a factor. Grad programs are expensive, and grants are competitive. I was doing everything right (getting good grades, asking for recommendations from professors, applying to programs, and looking into grants). But money was always on my mind.

Throughout all of it, those Friday film screenings were an oasis. I could go and shut out my problems and marvel at the color symbolism in a Hitchcock movie or cry at the end of It’s a Wonderful Life.

I even started becoming friendly with some of the regulars, one of whom was a man named Peter, an older, quick-witted guy who always shared his chocolate-covered peanuts with me. Before long, Peter and I started sitting together; whoever showed up first would save a seat for the other one. And before long, we started getting into the habit of going to the diner nearby afterwards to have pie and ice cream and talk about what we had just watched.

And once again, before long, he started to walk me home and linger a little in the doorway. It was all very cinematic, and I didn’t feel the need to rush anything. On the fourth Friday of this new tradition, when he went in to kiss me on the cheek, I kissed him on the mouth and invited him in for a nightcap. Roll your eyes at the cinematography if you wish. I thought it was exciting and romantic. Who cares if it was kind of corny?

Peter knew all about my life, my studies, my dreams for the future, even my money worries. But I knew hardly anything about him, other than his opinions about movies. He was a very closed book and would always change the subject when I tried to ask him about himself.

I reminded myself, though, that we hadn’t been seeing each other that long. And I trusted him, even though I didn’t know details about his personal life.

Our relationship deepened when Peter invited me to a film festival screening in a city a couple of hours' drive from where we lived. I was excited. I thought this might be our chance to talk about something other than movies. I had a whole list of questions at the ready.

But Peter insisted on listening to film-related podcasts the entire drive. Anytime I tried to interrupt to start a conversation, he would pause the podcast, answer me with a short response, and then hover his finger over the play button.

It didn’t take long for me to get the hint.

One point, about an hour and a half into the drive, Peter paused the podcast on his own. He said, “I don’t know if this is a stupid idea, you can tell me if it is. But I think you and I should have a podcast.”

Immediately, I found his suggestion to be kind of goofy and endearing. I wondered if this was the real reason why he gravitated towards me in the movie theater. Maybe he had always dreamed of having a podcast and saw his opportunity in a younger woman with a similar love for classic films. I said as much, but of course, in a playful way.

“No, no, it’s nothing like that,” he told me. “It’s what I’ve been thinking about, what you’re going to do after you graduate. I’ve asked around to see if I could introduce you to anyone in the film critique world, you know, magazines, online publications, things like that. Every single person told me the same thing: they said, ‘She needs to start a podcast. That’s where the money is these days.”

My heart melted. The suggestion didn’t come from ego. He didn’t want to use me; he wanted to help me. But again, my money anxieties came up.

“Look, I had thought about that,” I told him, “But we’re not really in the early days of podcasting anymore. It’s not like whoever wants a podcast can make an okay one and be successful. You need to invest in good equipment, a sound studio, editing, and publicity.”

Peter was quiet for a moment.

“Okay, done. We’ll get all that stuff taken care of. Done.”

Maybe it seems like it was too simple, but Peter really did mean it. He basically snapped his fingers and made it happen. It took time, sure, but six months later, we were up and running. The premise was based on what we were already doing. We had convinced the diner that we always went to after the Friday movie screening to allow us an hour and a half to sit and film while they were closing up. And we just chatted about what we had just seen. Sometimes we invited a film buff friend to come along, but mostly it was just us.

I was worried that the age difference would come off as weird. Like, would it be obvious that this was my sugar daddy? Would he get roasted for his perspective, coming from a different generation than I assumed our audience would be?

But, actually, it was one of the things that really set us apart from other podcasts. People liked that we didn’t always agree. And the intrigue about the nature of our relationship was, frankly, good for ratings.

Within a couple of months after launching, we had a medium-sized following and were about ready to introduce a paid subscription. We worked together on scripts and outsourced most of the technical stuff to a team. We hired a social media manager, which helped a lot.

I was still in school, but it was already clear to me that this could really be something. I was watching a career start to take root and grow. It was a ton of work, and super humbling (who knew, lots of people are unkind online), but I was looking forward to putting 100% of my effort into the podcast.

Peter had other ideas.

“Pardon the old man advice, but I don’t want to see you putting all your eggs in one basket,” he told me. He wanted me to keep on the grad school path. Whatever money we made from the podcast, plus his own contributions, would help me pay for school.

“To be sure,” he said, teasingly. “It would be more worthwhile for you to get a business degree. But if you must stick with the humanities, look into a media studies grad program. It’ll make you a better podcaster.”

One night, not long before I was set to move a few hours away to start my grad program (we had already figured out how to keep doing the pod from afar), I finally confronted Peter.

“Why are you doing all this, really? Like, I guess you don’t have to have an answer. I know that we care about each other and we’re both passionate about film. And that’s enough on its own. But what made you look at me and think, ‘I’m going to help this girl?”

“Maybe it’s not obvious to you, but I bet you all our audience has already guessed it,” he responded. “I wanted to go to film school. I didn’t have the money at the time. Now I have the money, but I don’t really want to be a filmmaker anymore. That’s why. Because I want you to have the chance that I didn’t. And I’m selfish. I want to keep watching movies with you.”

Now, imagine, if you will, the dramatic music of a classic film playing as the credits roll. That’s what it was like with Peter and me.