TBG had a rough time last Friday night. He was antsy and angsty and angry. He was confused and befuddled and annoyed. It was internal, solving a problem of his own making, tossing it around, waiting for the aha moment which never seemed to come.
Sleep wasn't on the agenda. For either of us.
To say that we were lethargic on Saturday morning would be giving us more credit than we deserved. With the sun out and breakfast in our bellies, the solution slid right out in front of us. We were happy to have a plan, but we were exhausted... in our minds and our souls.
We were never mad at one another, but the yucky aura was still floating around the house. We ordered Chinese food to be delivered and, of course, TBG turned on the television and began scrolling.... until we both yelled STOP at the same time.
Charade. Roman Holiday. How to Steal a Million.
Cary Grant. Gary Cooper. Peter O'Toole.
Audrey Hepburn.
The air was suddenly filled with light and joy and smiles. We know all three films by heart. Usually, I knit or play on my phone while they provide pleasant background but on Saturday I just sat on the couch with my sweetie, watching Audrey with hers.
When Gary Cooper kisses her for the first time, absurdly in love in an impossible situation, that act of impulse and desire brought us to tears... though we've seen it a dozen times before. Cary Grant's shadow in her doorway, Peter O'Toole entwined with her in a closet - she's vulnerable but resilient and the very best dressed person in the film.
(Okay, I'm shallow. But Givenchy and Audrey Hepburn did very well by each other, as G'ma would say.)
Each one has A Great Last Scene, a new category TBG and I have created. I like the bittersweet one best (if you don't know you'll have to watch them all to find out.... you can thank me later), but I could make a case for the other two.
And that was why eight hours of movies and commentary soothed our souls. Adults dealing with adult situations (okay, movie-adult-situations) in adult voices and words. These films have expectations of their audiences, even as they present themselves as accessible fluff. Like Gilbert and Sullivan's operettas, they are about duty and love and honor, with a touch of mistaken identity and incidental buffoonery on the side.
By the end of the night, there was peace.
And sleep.
The only ones that do that for me are the Jane Austen ones-- other than it sounds like the latest on Netflix wouldn't do it; so haven't seen it and probably won't-- although never say never when it comes to the Austen stories. I like them because they take me back to a simpler time... although it really wasn't and they usually address that problem also.
ReplyDeleteI like her stories, too.
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Shucks and it didn't record that as from me, Rain Trueax. I have to watch out for that.
ReplyDeleteBlogspot makes that a recurring problem.
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