 Weekend |
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On Friday night, my sister and I went to see Love Actually. It was admittedly too much of too much, but overall I enjoyed it because of three things: (1) the little boy was so adorable and winning and perfect that I could scarcely process it (2) Hugh Grant, the charming, the dancing, the Hugh Granting (3) Emma Thompson can outact basically anyone on the planet. Let me say this about Emma Thompson. I love her. The scene when she's alone in the bedroom was just a showcase of all that I love about her. She doesn't just produce normal tears. She produces tears of horror, shock, embarrassment, pain, and resolve in one tearful outburst that isn't really an outburst, it's an inburst, because she lets you see all the way into her heart, not only with her tears but with her face and her body, neither of which appear to have been botoxed or liposuctioned or lifted in any way, and I love her even more for that. Her performance stood so far above everyone else's in this movie for me that it was kind of staggering. Hugh Grant was wonderful and can basically do no wrong in my eyes at this point, and Colin Firth did what he could with a fairly stupid story, and Liam Neeson showed some nice layers and was really quite adorable with the little boy, but Emma Thompson was realer than all of them by leaps and bounds. I stopped bothering trying to make connections between the plots because it became irritating, and Laura Linney could have been given more to do, because God, she's really good, too, and I really can't think about it all further or my head will explode. I was so taken with the little boy that I became obsessed with figuring out where I've seen him before, because I swear I have, but I've never seen anything listed on his IMDb page, and I actually called mo pie from the drugstore as I searched for new facial soap to ask her, "WHERE HAVE I SEEN THIS BOY BEFORE?" but I still haven't solved the mystery. 
Every single trailer before the movie was total shit. When Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights was the best of the bunch, we were clearly in trouble. On Saturday, I woke up obscenely early and untangled the 1,000 wires connected to my TV and all of its myriad components. I somehow overcame my fear of figuring out the surround sound system which somehow got all messed up before S. left, and I figured it out, and I put all the little speakers where they're meant to go, and in triumph, I popped in my new DVD of The Lion King, plopped myself on the couch and watched the opening sequence in all of its surroundy soundy glory, and I actually got goosebumps when the loud drum sounds at the end of the song and the logo stomps onto the screen. It made me really quite happy, and I told the dogs, "I LOVE The Lion King!" And all was good. I then attended my cousin's stepson's wedding and felt vaguely nauseated the entire time, probably because it was the first wedding I've attended in my own church and though I resisted strongly I could not help but associate somewhat. My sister and I sneered via finger spelling in our laps at the dreadful cantor. My sister stifled a giggle at my M-Y-E-A-R-S-A-R-E-B-L-E-E-D-I-N-G. We went to the reception hall downtown, drank some punch and ate some pasta and dip, and she declared, "The best thing I have eaten all day are these Valentine heart candies," which were in little finger bowls as centerpieces even though it is clearly November. That night I went out for cheese fries and beer with two girlfriends. We ran into some other friends and had a gay old time. I especially enjoyed how Jack, the gayest gay friend I have, proudly sported a Quiet Riot pin on his lapel. Sunday was spent running around, walking the dogs, grocery shopping, eating a big bagel sandwich for lunch, stir fry for dinner, and a glorious Oreo McFlurry, food of the gods, for dessert while watching Alias and clutching my abdomen in a traumatized manner after the tubes and blood of the first scene. All I have to say is Bust Her Out, Vaughn. BUST HER OUT. My sister's ex (long story full of love and heartache and nonresolvedness) tends to talk about my sister during his band's performances at bars. Just last week, my brother was playing bass for his band at a big rowdy gig after the game, and the ex introduced him and exclaimed, "And I'm in love with his sister!" And apparently another time the ex's band's bass player was introducing my brother in a bar and shouted, "And his sister is hot!" In response, someone yelled from the crowd, "BOTH of his sisters are hot!" And that made me laugh and get really happy.
© Copyright 2003 elb |
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