Bon Appetit!

I just returned from seeing Julie and Julia with my roommate, Other Sarah, and I have to say that my heart has been thoroughly warmed. Slow-roasted for hours in a savory wine sauce warmed. Wrapped in a pastry crust and baked to golden brown warmed. Other Sarah and I have both declared that we can think of nothing better than to find doting husbands and then spend the rest of our lives cooking French food for them and our friends.

I could identify with Meryl Streep's Julie as she longed for "Something to do-oo" and chatted non-stop with her sister. I also identified with Amy Adams' Julie as her cubicle labor prompted her to cry "I can write a blog! I have thoughts!" Julie is also bit self-absorbed, which alarmed me. Am I like that? Yikes. At least I know my reader's lives will go on if I stop writing.

I also enjoyed analyzing the technological differences between the protagonist. Back in "the last century," Julia relies on letters to keep tabs on distant friends. On the other hand, Julie can instantly encounter her idol through the ubiquitous visual culture of the 2000's. The French Chef reruns, parody skits, and a Smithsonian exhibit all allow the protagonist to commune with Julia's creative genius. Likewise, Julie's project does not have meaning until it is validated on computer and then movie screens. It's a far cry from Julia's original cookbook draft as stacks of onion skin paper.

Although it is female-focused, the male characters in Julie and Julia are what hold it together. Both husbands are patient, encouraging, and affectionate; although sometimes exasperated by their wives' cooking hobbies. It is rare to see men get so much dignity in a chick flick - there is no reason to gripe about these guys over cosmos. Their relationships with their wives make the film realistic but deeply romantic. No one chases anyone through an airport or builds an elaborate closet or breaks up a wedding. Instead, two couples love each other, work through problems, and generally explore what this film review calls the "happily ever after" part.

A good biopic sends you running back to primary documents, and this film did that. I'm sorry to say my own memories of the real Julia Child are nothing special. When I was a child I only saw her master chef series, where guests did most of the talking. To me, Julia was some foreboding elite chef whose food was boring and complicated. I much preferred the shenanigans of Yan Can Cook or The Frugal Gourmet. Fortunately, PBS has corrected my misconceptions through the Julia Child videos posted on their website. Go check them out for yourself - the Cheese Souffle one is my favorite.

"You're leaving in the morning on an early train" - Phil Collins

I'm really glad I gave up getting rides home for Lent. Taking the bus is teaching me patience and to take things as they come - like when your afternoon train leaves 2 minutes ahead of schedule, pulling away as you try to run to the platform. With all the pockets of waiting time I have, I can read a book, pray the rosary, call my mom. It reminds me of "Jamaica time" on my service trip to Kingston. You get there when you get there, and just have a relaxed attitude as you move through life.

Deciphering the bus schedule and joining the crowds of commuters makes me feel like more of a city-dweller. All week long I have been dying to re-watch Stranger than Fiction, where the bus commute of Will Ferrel's character plays a pivotal role in the plot. I wouldn't mind having Emma Thompson's voice narrate by daily schedule, either.

Stranger than Fiction is not a masterpiece of a movie, but it's a very good one. I'm rather partial to it since it involves many of my favorite things: Emma Thompson, loony professors, ridiculous literary analysis, and Chicago's modern architecture. The soundtrack is pretty good too, and got me interested in the band Spoon. One of their albums got me through my errands today. It was so nice to drive around town with the windows down and peppy rock music coming from the speakers.

"I'm just talkin' 'bout two lonely people tryin' to reach a little understanding" ~ Toby Keith

The other day I continued my habit of "Old Movie Sunday" and re-watched An Affair to Remember. It never fails to warm my heart - and inspire my brain to analyze. **Spoilers ahead, so if you haven't already learned the ending from Sleepless in Seattle, leave now.*** What makes this film so much more watchable than most chick-flicks today?

The plot is straightforward, and reminds me of a happier-ending Romeo and Juliet. The first act is a comedy of manners as boy and girl woo with witty banter. Unfortunately, previous social connections forbid their union. The second act turns tragic as the girl seems felled by disaster. Luckily this Juliet is still conscious and able to carry on a conversation when her man finds her. And Ken-doll Paris is surprisingly obliging even after he learns his kept woman has fallen for someone else.

Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr's star-crossed romance is remarkably chaste - the titular "affair" consists mostly of long gazes and fervent handclasps. Kerr keeps playboy Grant at arm's length, guarding her cabin door and enforcing a strict curfew. All these boundaries just tease our emotions into passion and longing. The camera taunts us with a lingering but out-of-frame first kiss. Fleeting displays of affection remind viewers of the imminent separation that will dominate Act 2. The fact that our couple doesn't spend their ocean voyage romping in bed maintains the romantic tension and makes their story that much more bittersweet.

I'll admit, some parts of Act II are a treacly time-capsule. I want to gag when Kerr teaches precocious at-risk youth to belt out tunes about obeying your conscience. The step-solo by the token African-American kids is what puts me over the top.

Deborah Kerr lives in a world dominated by men, and she makes some earnest but clumsy attempts at feminism. Her journey from wearing diamonds to struggling as a schoolmarm reminded me of Jane Eyre somehow, especially how she avoids the love of her life until she comes to her senses about how much they need each other. Kerr is sick of male egos, and so avoids them by insisting on footing her own medical bills.

Still, her independence is a little myopic. Ken doll is not the violently jealous man she makes him out to be. Cary Grant is more hurt by her secrecy than he would ever be over the source of her medical coverage. Like the heroine of The Millstone, Kerr must realize that if a liberated woman "asked more favors of people, I would find them more kind."

The film also resonated with me as a look at 1950s medical access. Effective treatment is something only for the wealthy. Stigmas accompany any disability. No one in the film actually utters the word "crippled" or "paralyzed." Kerr's injuries are cleverly kept secret until we see a theater usher bring out her *gasp!* wheelchair. Friends do treat Kerr with compassion and respect, but she's also an object of hush-hush pity.

Ok, enough social commentary. Why do I love this movie? Because love saves its main characters. When they meet, they are smart, funny, and bored with their glamorous lifestyles. They realize that "we'd be fools to let happiness pass us by." They work hard to make their relationship viable, making career changes and eventually taming their pride. They fight rationally, and then they reconcile.
That' s how it should work. It's much more emotionally satisfying than someone chasing their crush through an airport for an "oh wait, I actually do love you!" public make-out session.