Our film club gave me homework, and now I miss watching movies badly

I joined a neighborhood film club because I wanted to watch movies I would not choose on my own. The first few months were exactly that. Twelve people squeezed into the back room of a coffee shop, somebody brought cookies, and the conversation wandered from camera work to childhood memories to whether one character owned an unreasonable number of lamps.

Then the club became organized.

We created a shared document. Each screening got background reading, interview links and three discussion prompts. One member began sending a short history of the director. Another made a spreadsheet so our choices would balance decade, country, genre and running time. These were generous contributions. I participated enthusiastically.

Now I cannot press play without opening a note on my phone. I record motifs, repeated colors and lines that might support an argument later. If I drift during a scene, I feel guilty because someone else will probably mention the detail I missed. I have delayed watching simple comedies at home because part of me thinks I should be catching up on the optional essay for Thursday.

At our last meeting, a new member said she liked the movie because it was “tense and beautiful.” There was a pause. Then someone asked what she thought the recurring windows represented. She looked embarrassed and barely spoke again. I recognized the feeling even though I had helped create it.

I suggested we hold one meeting with no prep beyond watching the film. Two members worried the conversation would become shallow. They said the materials help people move past “I liked it” and give quieter members something concrete to discuss. They are not wrong. Some of our best conversations began with context I would never have found myself.

But I miss being surprised by my own attention. I miss watching badly—missing a symbol, laughing at the wrong moment, deciding I am bored without proving why. The club was supposed to widen my leisure, not turn it into unpaid coursework.

Would you propose alternating deep-dive and no-homework meetings, step back from the preparation privately, or leave a club whose seriousness has become part of its identity? How do you protect thoughtful discussion without making every viewer audition as a critic?