Movies & Laughter Is My Favourite Painkiller

Popcorn, Pratfalls, and Pain Relief

By Antonia at Unremarkable Me

There’s a special kind of medicine that doesn’t come in a bottle. It comes in the form of a well-timed pratfall, a fake electrocution, or someone getting launched into a swimming pool with zero dignity and even less warning.

Yes, I’m talking about physical comedy. And yes—I love it. I mean, really love it. Not in the polite “chuckle and nod” kind of way. In the snort-laughing, can’t-breathe, actual tears kind of way. It’s my weakness. My joy. My nervous system’s favourite glitch.

Even Sam laughs at me for how hard I laugh. And he's not wrong—there's something about a taser gag that sends me. Every. Single. Time.

Sundays Are Sacred (and Silly)

Sundays in our house are sacred—not in the incense-and-chanting way, but in the chocolate, chaos, and cinematic ritual kind of way.

Every week, Sam and I build what can only be described as a structurally questionable pillow fort. We snuggle in with the dogs, under-eye patches on like we’re trying to manifest a spa day through sheer willpower, and snacks within arm’s reach—chocolate, popcorn, sometimes both at once. The heating pad’s on. The phones are off. And we each pick two movies—good, bad, or gloriously weird.

We call it Cinematic Sunday, and it's honestly one of my favourite things in the world.

Some weeks it’s high drama. Others, horror. But when comedy takes the reins—especially the physical kind—there’s something electric in the air (pun absolutely intended). I go from zero to wheeze-laughing in ten seconds flat. And honestly? It feels incredible.

We Don’t Just Watch Movies—We Love Them

Here’s the thing about being chronically ill: rest isn't optional. And when you spend hours, days, or weeks pinned to the sofa or bed by pain, fatigue, or just the sheer unpredictability of your body, movies become more than just entertainment. They’re immersion. Escape. Company.

We don't just watch movies—we inhabit them. We devour them. We build memories around them. We give ourselves mini film degrees from the comfort of our duvets.

Ask around, and you’ll find plenty of chronically ill people who could give you a better critical breakdown of a series than any Rotten Tomatoes critic. Because we binge not because we dont have anything else better to do—but out of necessity. And we notice everything. Plot holes. Dialogue quirks. Costume inconsistencies. Medical nonsense (we see you, wildly inaccurate ER scenes).

I still remember the first time I truly recognised my dark little sense of humour. I was about ten, curled up next to my nan watching The Money Pit with Tom Hanks. We laughed until we cried. That movie—full of glorious disasters, absurd breakdowns, and characters barely keeping it together—felt like a blueprint for the kind of humour that would stick with me for life. It still makes me laugh to this day.

And yes, we also create weird, wonderful traditions. Like our Wet Weekend Marvel Marathon Challenge—watching the entire MCU in chronological order whenever the weather, joints, or spirits say, “Nope.” It’s comfort and chaos in equal measure.

Cookies, Milk, and You’ve Been Framed

This love affair with Movies and Comedy runs deep. I still remember being a teenager, grabbing cookies and milk from the shop with my little brother, (Who is literally the funniest person I know )and settling in front of the TV to watch You’ve Been Framed. Those nights were sacred. We’d laugh so hard we couldn’t speak—just gasping, squeaking, face-hurting laughter.

Looking back, it wasn’t just about people falling off trampolines or slipping on ice (though that never got old). It was about joy. About connection. About sharing something simple in a world that, even back then, was already feeling pretty complicated.

That show, those evenings, those laughs—they’re some of my most vivid, comforting memories. that my litlle brother and i to this day.

Why It Matters Now

Living with chronic illness changes your relationship with your body. It becomes unreliable. Unpredictable. Sometimes it feels like it belongs to someone else entirely. But laughter—especially uncontrollable, physical laughter—reminds you that it’s still yours.

It releases tension you didn’t know you were carrying. It gives your brain a break from pain signals. It lets you feel human in a way no therapy session or pill ever could.

So yeah, maybe taser jokes aren’t everyone’s thing. But for me? They’re part of a long-standing ritual of reclaiming joy, of choosing absurdity over anxiety, of saying:

“This body might hurt, but it can still laugh. Loudly.”

Final Thoughts (Before Someone Falls Over a Hedge)

Humour won’t fix a flare-up or stop your joints from playing musical chairs. But it can take the edge off. And when you’re living with chronic illness, that edge gets sharp. Often.

So go ahead. Rewatch that scene where the character gets hit by the airbag. Laugh until your stomach aches. Cry a little if you need to. And know that somewhere, I’m probably doing the same—with gel patches on, cookies in hand, dogs sprawled across my lap, and Sam rolling his eyes lovingly in the background.

Because sometimes, pain relief comes in the form of popcorn and a pratfall.

And honestly? That’s good enough for me.

Resources & Links:

• Laughter and Chronic Pain – Practical Pain Management

• The Science of Laughter – Psychology Today

• Laughter Yoga and Chronic Illness – The Laughter Yoga University

• The Nap Ministry – Rest as Resistance