Aggravation (144) Anxiety (94) April Fool (1) Bitchiness (65) Bobby (86) BP (7) Burning in Hell (36) Bush (66) Calme au Blanc (13) Catholic Church (33) Charlotte Cushman (11) Cobalt Blue (26) Confusion (11) Crime (22) Daily Life (145) Dangling Conversations (48) Deep Thoughts (51) Depravity (29) Depression (48) Divertissement (15) Embarrassing Moments (17) Family (44) Friends (110) Frozen (15) Fun (60) Gay (67) Gertrude Stein and a Companion (19) Glass Menagerie (34) Good Things (73) Government (58) Gustav (16) Hate (20) Holidays (36) Hope (38) Hugging the Shoulder (6) Humid City (9) Humor (158) Hurricanes (3) Internets (8) Jesus (5) Justice (6) Katrina (119) Latrine (15) Life in the Quarter (353) Louisiana (12) Mardi Gras (86) Mark Rylance (1) Movie Stars (36) Music (22) Nagin (20) New Orleans (126) News (28) Nighthawks (29) NOLA Partee (1) Obits (12) Our-Leaders-in-Their-Wisdom (111) Outlaw City (126) Personal (406) Photography (532) Pity Post (12) Politics (79) R I P (12) Religion (20) Retirement (11) Righteous Shit (24) Sadness (37) Saints (19) Search-Engine Crap (20) Sex (34) Sick Humor (61) Silly Stuff (152) Southern Decadence (22) Striking Words (23) Stupid Shit (217) Take Me Out (41) Tattoos (18) Tennessee Williams (65) The End (1) The Human Comedy (15) Theatre (510) Thinking Blogger Award (1) Thrill Me (37) Treme (7) Valhalla (42) War (28) Weekly Photo Challenge (41) Weird Shit (9)
Friday, February 8, 2013
Losing It at the Movies
I took Bobby to see that movie, Lincoln.
It was okay.
I mean, the theatre had the sound turned down, so we couldn’t hear the dialogue all that distinctly. Why do they seem to turn the volume up on action flicks then keep it low in movies heavy with plain speaking?
I also went to the movie with the knowledge that Tony Kushner’s script had stacked the deck against Connecticut for no good reason (and his explanation for screwing around with historical facts is a gobbledygook of patronizing arrogance), so I was ready to stop suspending my disbelief during the scene in which the House votes on the Thirteenth Amendment.
I also confess to a certain personal aversion to Steven Spielberg’s tender touch with every film he makes.
For example, is there a pitiful little boy in all of this man’s movies?
I didn’t see Amistad. Did it have a pitiful little boy in it, too?
Was Oskar Schindler really just a big old cuddly Irishman? He sure seemed to be.
However, to give him his due, the man does know how to make movies; and if I enjoy being manipulated by somebody like Alfred Hitchcock, I ought to extend the same courtesy to Spielberg. So I will willingly spend fifteen minutes in the corner with my head hung low.
I enjoyed Daniel Day Lewis more than I thought I would. All the press I’d read about his acting in this movie made me think I was in for two-and-a-half hours of Great Acting. Instead, I discovered Abraham Lincoln was in reality another big old cuddly Irishman. I think I would have liked sitting around a campfire with him, listening to his yarns, both of us with our shoes off and in our socks.
I enjoyed all the performances, as a matter of fact, even the pointless ones like Joseph Gordon-Levitt wasting his time and talent playing Robert Todd Lincoln just so he could have a Spielberg credit on his resume. I liked Sally Field. She made me want to see a movie about Mary Todd. I also like Tommy Lee Jones a lot. He made me want to see a movie about Thaddeus Stevens, of all people! And his ending up in bed with S. Epatha Merkerson was almost worth the five-dollar matinee ticket price and the thirty dollars I spent on popcorn and Sprite.
Like I said, it was okay.
Going to see Lincoln did accomplish something good, though. It got Bobby out of the house and gave him a nice time. So I ended up doing a good deed today, even if I hadn’t wanted to do it. And I feel good about that.
I also told Bobby afterward that he can order any pay-per-view movie on DirecTV from now on since it’s gonna save us ten dollars for tickets and allow us to chow down on some of our own Orville Redenbacher we’ve already bought at supermarket prices.
Hey, wait a minute. That’s two good deeds!
Damn, I’m good.