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Before August, it had been ages since I’d watched a movie. Or anything on DVD. But in the days of waiting for B3 to arrive, I yearned for something to entertain me; to keep my mind off the drive-you-crazy waiting game.
It started with an invitation from a friend to go see a movie. We chose The Hangover – which had received ‘acclaim’ as the surprise-hit-with-women of the year. Apparently it was funny, or so the movie people would have one believe.
And who couldn’t use a laugh?
I told my sister on the phone that I was going to see it. I could hear the derision in her voice as she questioned my judgment. ‘I could use a laugh,’ I replied defensively. She made a remark about how it was too close to the Judd Apatow genre, and I sheepishly confessed that I thought those movies were alright. (Funny, even.)
Well, I forgot that I don’t like Bradley Cooper. He was okay in Alias, but it was his appearance in Wedding Crashers that sealed his unappeal for me. I also don’t like movies that feature one ridiculous circumstance after another, (Mike Tyson, tiger, baby in a closet) shrouded in hysteria. All I could think after it was over, was ‘this makes Judd Apatow look like a comic genius.’
A week or two later, another friend suggested we see a movie. This time, we settled on My Sister’s Keeper. Because it was at the cheap theater. I was so clueless about it, I thought Cameron Diaz played the sister with cancer and Joan Cusack the mother. Not so much. But once I got over that initial ’surprise’ I thought it was a fine movie. If unnecessarily sappy (emotionally exploitative) at times. I mean, people were SOBBING in the theater, I don’t think the scenes with the dying girl and her mother looking at a photo album were needed. Or the drawn-out hospital goodbyes from idiot family members who kept mumbling things like: ‘keep fighting….be strong’.
The movies were interspersed with nightly viewings of The Wire. My sister and brother in law had raved about it for so long that I asked her to send me the first couple of seasons (which she owns on DVD). Jason was hooked, immediately; urging me to stay up several nights until 1.30am to finish ‘just one more episode’.
It reminded me of Christmas 2002 when we were ’stuck’ in London by ourselves, and would stay up till 4am watching the first season of ‘24′. Except we had no kids, and could lazily sleep in until 10 or 11 to compensate for the lack of sleep.
I found the first season intriguing, once I got over the sadness and disappointment I felt when the HBO logo would pop up on the screen and the Sex and the City theme song did not follow.
I watched all o the first season, but petered out in the second. As a mother of two young children who are, on occasion, rather ‘trying’ I decided it was best for all the Johnsons if I did not have a Baltimore Police Officer’s vocabulary in my arsenal of words to shout at my kids.
If I were to shout at my kids, which I most certainly never do.
After watching a few episodes, I found myself waking up (particularly after those 1.30am nights), wondering why my ‘mopes’ had to wake up so freaking early.
And, then I committed the most egregious act of movie choosing, ever. I selected Confessions of a Shopaholic because I wanted something ‘light’ and ‘entertaining’. Which I suppose that movie was, to some people. But mostly I found it embarassingly horrible. And I couldn’t fault Jason for any of the disparaging remarks he threw my way while we were watching it.
Though people who’ve watched the likes of You Don’t Mess with the Zohan and Semi-Pro should really keep their mouths shut.
I’m just saying. We followed the junk with some Oscar nominees: Doubt and The Reader. Doubt being the better of the two, in my opinion, despite Philip Seymour Hoffman’s nasty fingernails. Clearly I’m not the scholarly film critic I once was, now that I’m watching Isla Fisher movies, but it seemed to me that Kate Winslet just frowned a lot in The Reader….and she got uglier and older as the film progressed.
Genius.
Jason has this theory that if you allow yourself to be made ugly on screen, you’ll usually get an Oscar nomination out of the deal. (Charlize Theron in Monster…..) Same, if you speak with an accent or in a language besides English. (Yes, Penelope Cruz from Vicky Christina Barcelona, I’m talking to you.)
Jason summed it up: ‘Is The Reader better than Confessions of a Shopaholic? Yes. Is it better than Bolt? I’m not so sure.’
As was mentioned earlier, I traveled to London last month to attend the wedding of a dear friend.
Prior to this ceremony, my only experience with English weddings was the nuptials of friends we attended in London less than two weeks after our oldest was born. (We were living there and took the Tube…not a cross Atlantic flight with a still-warm-from-the-oven newborn.) That, and having watched ‘Four Weddings and a Funeral’ more times than I care to confess.
Somehow I didn’t think Hugh Grant would show up at my friend’s wedding wearing over-sized glasses, however.
In the end it was a lovely wedding. The only similarity to the film being the final very traditional English hymn that was sung – which is also sung in one of the movie’s four weddings. And features one of the main characters, Scarlett, singing horribly off-key and about two bars behind everybody else. So it was difficult to sing that song with a straight face; I couldn’t stop chuckling. A quick look around confirmed I was the only one.
At the reception, the best man gave a hilarious though slightly more respectful speech than Richard Curtis might have written. Afterwards, I was chatting with the guy sitting to my left, the husband of a girl I marginally know. He was looking rather tan and glowing, which I thought odd since it was late February. And England is not exactly renowned for its sunshine.
I don’t remember the context of the conversation, but suddenly he made a statement in his defense: ‘every guy moisturizes.’ At which point I chuckled, because if every man moisturizes, I am apparently married to the only one in the northern hemisphere who never has and never will.
‘No they don’t,’ I countered, convinced this man had been told a lie by whoever convinced him to start using Oil of Olay in the first place. We decided to settle the matter with a quick survey of our table’s male occupants. Apparently (surveyed) males under 35 do apply moisturizer to their faces. Those over 35 either don’t, or won’t confess to doing so. Of course, one of our participants also carries a ‘man bag’…which made me wonder if moisturizing is really a metrosexual phenomenon.
One friend disclosed that her husband actually uses her moisturizer. It was slightly surreal. I felt like I was stepping into a new world or something; the blinders finally being removed from my eyes. Men actually moisturize? How did I not know this?
Though I did learn the secret to my tablemate’s glowing complexion. He’d left for a trip and, having run out of his own moisturizer, quickly grabbed his wife’s.
Not realizing it was of the self-tanning variety.
At the risk of sounding like I’m fifty-five….is there nothing worth watching on television anymore? Maybe the selection offered by Air Canada on its international flights isn’t a representative sample of what is really ‘out there’ in the television world. But judging from the likes of ‘Gossip Girl‘, ‘The New Adventures of Old Christine’, ‘Beverly Hills 90210′ and ‘Burn Notice‘….I’m not missing much in my television-free home.
I did have a chance to catch up on some movies, because I have a strange obsession with utilizing things that are ‘free’ to me. For example, even though I was not hungry at 5.30am when the airline served me breakfast – I took the breakfast anyway. Even if it consisted of fat free yogurt which I do not eat, and one of those Otis Spunkmeyer-esque muffins (read: artificial) which I would only consider eating if I were starving and there was nothing else available. Which means I carried said items in my luggage for two days before throwing them out.
Why, oh why?
Same with the ‘free’ television at my disposal. Even though I was bone tired, and even though nothing from the Air Canada selection really appealed to my tastes, I still watched it. Because it was there. And because I’d already taken a thirty minute nap and couldn’t fall asleep again.
So I whiled away the hours by watching the tiny screen in front of me. On the way to London I watched ‘Burn After Reading’. Mostly because it had arrived at our house the same day, courtesy of Zip movie rentals. And I figured if I watched it then Jason could mail back our home copy as soon as he was done with it. When I told the first part of this story to David, the groom to be at the English wedding I attended, he said: [did you watch the same movie as Jason] so you two could talk about it?’ I couldn’t help but laugh. That sort of logic could only emanate from a newlywed, or about-to-be-wed.
On the return flight, I started my viewing marathon with ‘Rachel Getting Married.’ Now, I’m not a fan of Anne Hathaway, though I may have secretly enjoyed The Princess Diaries (first one, only). But, wasn’t she nominated for her performance in this film? So I decided to ‘give it a go’ as my English friends might say.
By the thirty minute mark I was so annoyed by the over-acting, and the contrived ‘feel’ of the whole thing that I hit the stop button. I may have an obsession with using ‘free’ things, but even I have my limits. I was tempted to try and find out WHY the sister was having an Indian-themed wedding despite the fact that she was Caucasian and marrying an African American gentleman. But, frankly, I didn’t have the stamina for it.
Since that turned out to be a bust, I checked out ‘Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist’ because Michael Cera is the cutest nerd I’ve ever seen. And this turned out to be a decent movie. By decent, I mean I was able to watch the whole thing without feeling like my eyes might get permanently stuck in the back of my head from rolling so much. Maybe it’s because Michael Cera didn’t wear excessive black eyeliner or over-acted his way through the movie.
And, because there were still MANY hours to go in my nine hour flight, I watched ‘The Secret Life of Bees’, after that. Also a perfectly fine movie – neither great nor terrible.
After that, there really weren’t any movies I could watch in good conscience, so I moved on to the television selections. There was a humorous episode of The Office – Season 4. And then there wasn’t much else, so I decided to catch up with the times and check out some of the new shows – like ‘Christine’ and ‘Gossip Girl’. After all, I loved Julia Louis-Dreyfuss as Elaine in Seinfeld. But maybe she’s just not meant to have her own show. The particular episode I watched featured her driving her Prius filled to the brim with recycling and dropping her kid off at private school while wearing a nightgown. I guess I can relate – except I don’t have a Prius or a kid in private school. But I didn’t so much as crack a smile for the first fifteen minutes, so I moved on to ‘Gossip Girl’. Which reminded me of a cross between Sex and the City and The OC: high school kids wearing uber-expensive clothes and spending their summers in The Hamptons? Complete with Carrie Bradshaw-esque voiceovers? Come on.
I may have watched the whole episode. But I won’t do it again.
My youngest doesn’t say much.
He basically utters two words – ‘Mama’ and ‘Dada’ and I’ve figured out he often uses ‘Dada’ to refer to his pacifier, not his dad. So it was noticeable when we walked down the stairs together earlier this week, and he uttered a new word.
‘Mama’, he said as he carefully took a couple of steps. ‘Yes?’ I responded.
‘E-ve’ he uttered. Clear as day.
‘Did you just say E-ve’? I asked him. (As in, the other robot from Wall-E? The movie we haven’t watched since Christmas?)
Odd.
I’d hoped his ‘next’ word might be something useful….like ‘water’ or ‘milk’ or ‘bed’ …or maybe even his brother’s name.
On the sixth day of Christmas, my true loves gave to me….six chocolatechip cookies, five hours’ alone, four people dressed, three frozen fruit treats, two burning snowmen and a queasy feeling in my tummy.
Because he started talking about money and expressed an interest in purchasing his own toys, we started giving our not-quite-five-year-old an allowance. A very sporadic, ‘whatever’ allowance. As in, ‘hey, thanks for doing your chore…here’s two (or three, or four) random coins I picked out of the change jar!’
Upon receipt of the loot, he’d run over to his piggy bank (a heavy, clear glass pig that once belonged to his dad) and deposit the coins. His initial excitement at earning an income faded quickly, however, and his output in the ‘chore’ department, decreased significantly. Luckily he hit a (minor) jackpot when his grandparents came to visit – they were more than happy to contribute the coins that remained in their wallets on the eve of their departures. (It also became apparent that he had zero understanding of the value of money, preferring brown coins to silver. ‘No, I just want the brown…not the silber.’)
But he also lost some money. For bad behavior, of course. ‘If you don’t obey, I’m going to take away two (or three, or four) allowances,’ I’d warn. Encouraging him in the use of fake words, no doubt. Funnily, he would get very upset about losing his ‘allowances’ but not upset enough to obey or correct the bad behavior in question. The dilemma of mankind, I suppose.
In addition to being used as leverage for encouraging good behavior, the allowance also proved most useful in a store situation. ‘I think I’d like a big dump truck’ he would say when in the toy aisle of a store. And instead of having to be the ‘heavy’ who says ‘we’re not getting a dump truck today’ etc, I’d just say: ‘oh, do you want to use your allowance for that.’
And he’d always say ‘no’. And we’d move on without a tantrum.
So we were driving in the car on Friday night, after the boys picked me up from the bookstore where I’d been hiding out.
We were talking about their excursion to the car wash place when G piped up ‘maaaybe we can go to the movie peater tomorrow’ he hinted-asked. Which was cute and problematic. I’d suggested we go to the theater last weekend and he’d declined. So instead I’d bought him the Wall-E DVD, figuring it was a significant savings from taking four people to the movies. (Thanks Canada for not having matinee prices, and for charging a one year old the same price as a thirteen year old!) So I wasn’t particularly inclined to give him a new DVD one weekend and a trip to the movies the next. I decided to play my trump card: ‘Do you want to use your allowance to go to the movie theater?’
‘Yeah…I want to use my allowance.’ (Which was kind of an ‘aww’ moment – our boy had made his first spending decision.)
So we got out the piggy bank this morning and shook out its contents. A little over $9 emerged which would cover his ticket to ‘Madagascar 2.’
The movie Jason has since dubbed as ‘the worst children’s movie – eeeeever.’
The piggy bank didn’t, however, have enough contents to cover the cost of the Orange Julius beverage they shared. Apparently the Bank of Jason had come through with a bail-out plan.
‘Did you get me a drink, too?’ I asked when I picked them up.
‘No….we didn’t. Maybe next time,’ the boy replied sincerely, as if it was some significant consolation.
- If you’re wondering how to cut $3.75 from your budget, I have a suggestion. Don’t buy the ‘Salted Caramel’ hot chocolate from Starbucks.
Sure, it sounds fancy and delicious. But so did the dreadful Dulce de Leche Latte, or whatever they called it for the very brief period of time it was offered.
I didn’t really detect a hint of actual salted caramel, but if you happen to like the taste of the hot chocolate, I have an idea for how you can replicate it for approximately $1.50 at home. Go to the store. Buy a package of Land’O Lake’s hot chocolate mix. It should cost anywhere from 69 cents to 99 cents. I believe there is a ‘caramel’ flavor, but let’s be honest, they all taste the same. Heat some milk at home, add the powder to your milk. Stir vigorously and enjoy. If you want to be extra fancy, you can even add a little pinch of salt and call it ’salted caramel’ hot chocolate.
But I’m pretty sure the mix already has a fair amount of sodium in it, so you might as well skip the salt.
- If you’re wondering how to shave 99 minutes off your very full weekend schedule, I have a suggestion. Don’t watch the movie ‘The Counterfeiters’ (Die Falscher for you German speakers, sorry no umlaut.)
You might see the preview at some point and think to yourself, that seems like a really interesting Holocaust movie (I did!) and from the little bit I gathered at the end, there really was a big ‘counterfeiting’ operation going on during WWII. But the interesting premise did not translate into a sufficiently interesting film. ‘What did you think?’ I asked Jason when we finished watching it, curious if he thought it was as blah as I did. ‘Ergh…50/50′ he replied.
Which I think means woefully average. I should have clarified.
2008 has been a difficult year so far. Not for the obvious reasons like dealing with a challenging infant or having to move to another country. But because it’s the year I stopped having crushes on Jason Bateman and Colin Firth. As my friend said, the posters have had to come down.
I should not have to explain my crush on ‘Mr. Darcy.’ I think every woman who has ever seen Bridget Jones or the BBC’s version of Pride and Prejudice feels the same way. That is, until they see Mamma Mia.
It’s not just that he’s gay in the movie, which obviously lessens his attractiveness to heterosexual females. It’s hearing him sing; and ‘Our Last Summer’ at that. A song which is best appreciated sung by a singer whose first language is, say, Swedish.
But when Colin Firth sings it in his thin, proper British voice, there is no mistaking the beyond-cheesy lyrics: ‘and we sat down in the grass, by the Eiffel Tower…..Those crazy years, it was the time of the flower-power.’
The flower-power?
And Pierce Brosnan – formerly James Bond. It just doesn’t work, listening to him sing, well anything, but particularly ‘when all is said and done.’ When sung by Abba, one doesn’t fully comprehend the lyrics, which is for the better. But when sung by a former spy with an Irish accent, there is no missing the proverbial cheese.
‘In our lives we have walked some strange and lonely treks. Slightly worn but dignified and not too old for sex.’
I don’t think my fellow moviegoers appreciated it when I chuckled audibly.
I wonder if he has watched the movie and if he cringes when he does.
It means ‘frog’ in French. And has little to do with anything besides the fact that I watched ‘Le Scaphandre et le papillon’ a few days ago. ’The Diving Bell and the Butterfly’ for those who didn’t take four years of high school French.
Continuing in the ‘why your life doesn’t suck as much as you think it does’ vein, it is based on the book of the same title, written by Jean-Dominique Bauby. He had a stroke that left him paralyzed; only able to communicate by blinking his left eye.
The book’s not that long, understandably.
But both book and movie are very good. As long as you don’t mind feeling like a total heel for grumping about minutiae.
And if you get your husband to watch it, he might not point out that the ‘free’ movie you got from the library ended up costing $4+ due to all the late fees you racked up.
I have a running joke with a friend that I’m part of a support group for underwhelmed people. Hi, I’m Nicola. And I’m underwhelmed.
So perhaps it’s not surprising that 99.99% of the world went and saw Wall-E and thought it was ‘terrific’, ‘Pixar’s best yet’, etc. And I actually found it depressing: the ominous towers of garbage, the grossly obese people floating around in space drinking the future equivalent of Big Gulps.
I had just nodded off when the movie stopped abruptly – about a third of the way through – due to a technical malfunction. G announced: ‘I think it’s over. Let’s go get some candy.’
I was tempted, but cheap Nicola who’d plunked down more than $13 to see a matinee, insisted we stay.
Is Semi-Pro the worst Will Ferrell movie ever? I’m inclined to think so. (Actually, I think it’s a tie with Anchorman, which I loathed.) But despite all the bad-ness, I did find myself chuckling heartily at times.
Rotten Tomatoes gave it a 21% rating, which seems about right. But somehow Anchorman got a 64% and Blades of Glory is practically Oscar material with a 69% rating. And Talladega Nights, which I’ve refused to see because I haven’t met anyone in real life who liked it, comes out on top with 72%.
So, there you have it. Critics agree Semi-Pro is truly awful. And I do too.
