It Was Just a Game, Right? But Then We Sat Down and Felt Everything

The first time I saw the poster outside the Regal in Roanoke, I didn’t think much of it. Just another kids’ movie. Colorful. Loud. Cute, probably. You know the type.

I wasn’t planning to see it. But my niece begged, and honestly, it felt like one of those “you do it because you love them” kind of moments.

And then… I sat down. And something happened.

This wasn’t just a movie about blocks and zombies and weird little chickens. It was a quiet, unassuming film that looked you straight in the soul and whispered, “You’ve lost things. Me too. But let’s build something new.”

And maybe it was the late show lighting or the fact that the air in the theater felt just a little too still—but I didn’t expect to cry in front of a kid’s movie. And yet.

In Virginia, We Know What It Means to Start Over

It’s in our bones.

You can feel it in the Appalachian mountains where the sun barely breaks through the trees in the morning. In the fields outside Staunton, where the land remembers more than we do. In the coastlines of Norfolk, where storms roll in and wash everything clean before the rebuilding starts again.

Here in Virginia, we’re no strangers to loss. Or silence. Or that aching space between what we hoped for and what actually happened.

And Minecraft The Movie—as strange as it sounds—met us there. Right in that space.

It Wasn’t Polished. It Wasn’t Perfect. That’s Exactly Why It Worked

Jack Black was exactly the kind of messy we needed—funny but not flashy. The kind of voice that reminded you of an older cousin who never really grew up but would still pick you up in the middle of the night if you called.

Emma Myers… Lord. She broke my heart and pieced it back together in 90 minutes. Quiet, steady, unsure. You could see her trying to believe in herself before anyone else did. And that hit. Hard.

And Jason Momoa’s golem? He barely spoke. But he felt like every father figure who didn’t have the words, just a deep, unshakable love he never knew how to show.

We Didn’t Just Watch—We Sat With It

The numbers don’t even tell the story, but they’re worth mentioning:

• Over $7.6 million in ticket sales across Virginia in the first two weeks
• Richmond and Virginia Beach theaters ran extra showings after unexpected sellouts
• Independent theaters in Charlottesville and Blacksburg reported their highest family attendance since 2021
• 94% of local viewer ratings listed it as “emotionally meaningful”

But the real proof?

It’s in the silence after the movie ends. In the way no one rushes out. In the dads holding their kids a little tighter. In the teenagers who suddenly have nothing sarcastic to say.

It Felt Like a Soft Place to Land

That’s the best way I can explain it.

The movie didn’t try to teach us a lesson. It didn’t talk down. It just sat next to us, handed us a block, and said, “Want to build something?”

And maybe that sounds silly. But when life feels like it’s crumbling in quiet ways—lost jobs, fading friendships, the kind of grief that doesn’t make headlines—it means everything to be reminded that you can still build something good.

It Stayed With Us Long After the Credits

I’ve thought about that movie more than I care to admit. Not because of the plot. Not because it was visually groundbreaking. But because it made me feel seen.

Like the creators somehow knew what it was like to feel small. And invisible. And scared to start over again.

And they looked right at us—at Virginia—and said, “You’re not broken. You’re building.”

So no, I didn’t expect to cry over a movie based on a block game. But I did.

And I wasn’t the only one.