COMMITMENTS : Till 'Death Wish' Do Us Part : When this couple said 'I do,' they didn't promise to like the same films. It has to do with 'girl movies' and 'boy movies.'

COMMITMENTS : Till ‘Death Wish’ Do Us Part : When this couple said ‘I do,’ they didn’t promise to like the same films. It has to do with ‘girl movies’ and ‘boy movies.’

By ROBIN GREENE

April 25, 1994 12 AM PT

SPECIAL TO THE TIMES

On an oinker scale of 1 to 10--10 being that mythical guy who willingly cleans the house and does the laundry, all before bringing you breakfast in bed-- I’d give my husband a solid 7.

After all, he does help around the house (when he’s reminded), he’s very supportive and, most important, he’s a great dad.

But no one’s perfect. And when it comes to Steve’s movie-viewing habits, well, only one word comes to mind: Neanderthal .

I’m one of those women who thought one of the bonuses of marriage would be that I’d always have a steady date for the movies. There we’d be, his arm lovingly draped over my shoulder while we sat cuddled in a darkened movie theater munching popcorn and watching some great flick.

Or we’d be at home, curled up on a sofa, a fire blazing, the lights low, sharing one of those great movie classics, such as “It Happened One Night” or “Gone With the Wind.”

What could I have possibly been thinking?

I used to feel sorry for women sitting alone in a movie theater. Now I know the truth. Chances are the woman is alone not because she couldn’t get a date. She’s probably sans partner because her other half refuses to see any movie that doesn’t feature sneering he-men karate-kicking their way to saving a world threatened by bloody and massive destruction.

The list of movies I have missed because Steve thinks they’re just for girls is a who’s who of the Academy Awards. Before marriage, I could have been a voting member of the Academy. I’d see every nominated film--even the foreign ones.

Now? Well, let’s just say watching the Academy Awards is not what it used to be.

That’s not to say Steve is without his reasons for refusing to see movies such as “Steel Magnolias.” (Him: “Why would I want to see a movie about the South? I grew up there.”) Or “Driving Miss Daisy.” (Him: “Who wants to see a movie about some guy driving some woman around?”) Or “The Piano.” (Him: “You expect me to pay to see Holly Hunter not talk?”) “Thelma and Louise”? Didn’t even suggest it.

Besides, I know the real reason he won’t see those movies. Not enough blood, guts, action, suspense. No Terminator, Exterminator, Schwarzenegger or Stallone.

Or Chuck Norris. We have some friends who were lucky enough to be invited to attend a State Dinner at the White House a few years ago. I wanted to hear the important details: Who wore what, who sat next to whom, who ate what and who embarrassed whom.

Did Steve care for any of that? Not a chance. He found out that Chuck Norris was on the guest list and spent the rest of the evening telling our friends what they should have said to “good ol’ Chuck” about every movie he ever starred in.

But what do you expect from a guy who planned, as a birthday surprise, to take his wife to see a University of Tennessee football game? (Him: “But, honey, they play at the second-largest college football stadium in the country !”)

This same guy believes that the greatest movie ever made was “The Package.” Never seen it? I have. Dozens of times. Even with featuring roles by three of the sexiest guys on film--Gene Hackman, Tommy Lee Jones and Dennis Franz of “NYPD Blue”--I inevitably fall asleep before the end.

Not that it’s a bad movie. It’s just not a great one. It’s certainly not the kind of movie worth renting over and over.

And yet Steve has the nerve to tease me mercilessly each Christmas for searching the TV listings lest I miss any showing of “It’s a Wonderful Life,” “White Christmas” and “Miracle on 34th Street.”

Now I don’t want you to think this marriage can’t be saved. I’ll happily watch “The Fugitive” or “In the Line of Fire,” and Steve went willingly to “Sleepless in Seattle” and “The Paper.”

For the most part, though, we’ve given up trying to reconcile our differences on the subject. And you know what? It doesn’t matter. If blood and guts make him happy, so be it.

Most important, I’ve learned one lesson. The next time I go to a movie and see some woman happily munching popcorn--alone--I’ll know she’s probably there by choice. And she will probably be me.