And my return is directly related to King George VI. It's true. No Bertie stammer, no future interest of the Weinstein Company, no Colin Firth, no Oscar nod, no Saturday matinee trip to the movies. My attempt to see all 10 (Only half way through...And I'd so rather watch True Grit again than sit through Inception. Boo.) nominations and Carmike gift cards brought me to the over-crowded Summit theater this afternoon (1).
(Zack Morris Time out: Law and Order (2) should really invest in a larger wardrobe budget. Just saw the Six Feet Under chick who went retarded for her first 15 minutes of fame in the same court-jester-inspired blouse of a bereaving mother who just lost her epileptic son to asphyxiation. And might I say...Woof. Time in.)
I should have known I was in for a real cinematic adventure treat when the first thing I see upon entering the building is a girl--maybe 20--decked out in a sparkly red cocktail dress, wrap and strappy silver heels, accompanied by her suitor. In a sweatshirt. I don't know which is sadder. The fact that they're obviously celebrating Valentine's Day two days early at Gnomeo and Juliet or that the boyfriend couldn't even bother to warn her that she'd be highly overdressed and not even getting popcorn.
On to the real movie. I had a full row to myself: purse, jacket and snuck in snacks strewn about. Then I got visitors. A couple of older women who sat much closer than necessary. Ok fine. Whatevs. They don't seem to be very talkative and I don't see a Jitterbug phone in sight. We're good. Then the show starts...We've got Stage 5 Chatters. Not so much or so loud that I'm not totally enthralled by baby love Colin, but just enough to catch me off guard and nearly spit out my sour gummy bears with a case of the giggles.
When Colin/Bertie declares to Geoffrey Rush, "I have a voice!," I hear this declarative, "Yes!" from my left. When the near-coronation George VI essentially tells the Archbishop (played by Brother Cadfael aka the clergy's version of Murder She Wrote) to fuck off, I hear this weepy but powerful "Damn straight!" When little Liz and Margie come on screen brushing their stuffed ponies, I hear this faint, breathy, "Oh oh oh, Queen Elizabeth..." Now I'm feeling kind of bad for Margaret. Don't ignore her. She's still royalty and all. I wanna tell her that even though her big sister is gonna turn into Helen Mirren and get her own movie, that at least she'll be the object of everyone's sexual fantasy on board Pirate Radio (except Phillip Seymour Hoffman. Like he said, he hadn't had the pleasure).
And the final kick in the pants...During the king's speech (Not like I'm giving anything away. If there were no speech it'd be called the King's Stutter With No Real Motive), there are machine gun tears. A litany of waterworks and snot-sucking sighs. I'm not saying the movie wasn't good. It was. And Colin Firth was lovely. I want to ball him up and carry him in my pocket. He'd say "fuck, fuck, bollocks...tit" whenever I gave him a squeeze. BUT. You'd no more bawl at this scene than you would laugh when you finally found out what "Sophie's Choice" was. Just not necessary.
Needless to say, I think I know who she'll be rooting for Oscar night.
(1) I think we've talked about my love for solo weekend matinees. It works well for my impulsive nature (reinforced by my new haircut, the majority of my furniture and those three comforters in my closet that I really thought would be "the one"). It also works well for when my impulsions fade and decide I want to nap instead. I was supposed to go see this particular gem two weeks ago, but I was le tired and didn't want to shower. And because I was flying solo I didn't have to text anyone an excuse for canceling. Makes me more honest.
(2) I've set a season pass for every Law and Order that comes on TNT. Which is dangerous since it comes on about five times a day. Of course, I delete any that don't have Lenny Briscoe or Hang em High McCoy. And if J.K. Simmons makes a delightful psychiatrist cameo, well that's the perfect L&O trifecta, my friend. Mmm Dr. Skoda.