Last weekend, I had a bit of a movie marathon. It always ends up like that when Neal drills because, really, what else am I going to do? I mean I could be productive but when the cat is away...and all of that. So, for the first time since high school, I went to see a movie during its premier weekend, but of course that was merely by accident. I saw Julie and Julia. I like to cook and I like to try out new and impossible recipes, usually ending with gorgonzola on the ceiling and me crying in the middle of the kitchen floor eating chocolate chips out of the bag. So, what's not to love about a movie revolving around Julia Child's life?
I don't ever remember watching Julia Child's cooking show on TV. Before my time, as they say. (And I must say that it's alarming how many shows I watched that I thought were new, but as it turned out, they had been in syndication for several years. Oh, Mr. Ed...I'm so disappointed). My mother can get a little misty-eyed over it as she does remember and even attempted a Julia Child-recipe or two. She has stories of how Mrs. Child used to lead naked and raw chickens in a salmonella-streaked dance across the counter and all I can think is danger, danger! Grab the clorox! But then, my generation is a little different in that germ and safety sort of way. What I did not miss was Dan Akroyd's interpretation of Julia Child on SNL (back when SNL was something that you would force yourself to stay up for because it was just that good - and the cast was on a lot of street drugs). His voice, his gestures, his squirting of 2 pints of blood between his index and middle fingers...all something to be remembered. And so there I sat in a dark movie theater learning all about Julia Child and her life with her bald but impossibly romantic husband and cooking in Paris. I will not ruin it for you, but do go see it, and if you come out of there without wanting to make a crepe or something with a lot of beef...well chances are then that you do not actually own any pots or pans.
Next up was Harvey Milk. I believe this rounded out the Netflix list of memoirs put to film, much to my husband's relief. I'm probably one of the few who will read a book or watch a movie simply because it is about someone else's life. I find it inspirational but most find it too much like life, too little like escapism (which is well worth the $9 plus $120 for popcorn and a coke). Harvey changed the world for the betterment of human rights. You could get all caught up in exactly who he chose to take home at the end of the night, Victor or Victoria...but really it's about all of us. After all, you have to draw the line in the sand somewhere otherwise you lose your civil rights because your ancestors came from China or you have 7 kids. So, way to go, Harvey. I know you were smiling down on the project (oops..well you find out in the first 30 seconds of the film that he's dead...unless you've already googled him).
I'm finishing up The Devil in the White City and I will have all sorts of fun World's Fair facts to share...because really, in this harsh economic time, what we really need is a World's Fair. And more love, of course. And then back into fiction world...unless Neal finishes The Nine and I get to lose myself in the inner workings of the Supreme Court.