Reenact a movie scene and read old music magazines
The rental car in which ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rushthatspeaks and I will be road-tripping for the b'nei mitzvah of my godchild marks my first experience driving a vehicle with a start-stop system and it makes me feel I have stalled out at every stop sign, red light, and lull in traffic.
Packing for a trip reminds me that I used to keep a backpack stocked for traveling, because once it was not such a rare occurrence. I have been out of state three times in as many years and two were day trips. The exception, not coincidentally, also involved my godchild's family.
Rich, Young and Pretty (1951) could have been much more designed to annoy me personally, but I still resent that the eleven-minute, half-montage recapitulation of the ill-fated romance of Wendell Corey and Danielle Darrieux may be the closest thing to romantic comedy he left on film. As an American ex-serviceman starstruck with a Parisian cabaret singer, he is genuinely cute as he sits in on the rehearsal she invited him to after the whirlwind of showing him the town, glancing shyly up at her and self-consciously around at her castmates as if uncertain how much of the performance she is seriously addressing to him—there's danger in your eyes, chéri, but I don't care—and how much is fourth-wall teasing, but then he just lets her look into his face so softly as she finishes the song as if she means it after all—just tell me when and where, my heart will meet you there—that it's as odd and prim a dodge for them not to kiss by its close as for the script to avoid entirely the present-day question of whether he's ever gotten over being loved and left by her. The film which wraps around this flashback is otherwise composed of idiot balls, which it juggles until it suddenly gives up and throws them all at the audience; it is indeed heteronormative as balls and Wendell Corey should have sued his mustache. In the small and impeccably officious part of a maître d', at least, it does contain Hans Conried.
rushthatspeaks and I will be road-tripping for the b'nei mitzvah of my godchild marks my first experience driving a vehicle with a start-stop system and it makes me feel I have stalled out at every stop sign, red light, and lull in traffic.Packing for a trip reminds me that I used to keep a backpack stocked for traveling, because once it was not such a rare occurrence. I have been out of state three times in as many years and two were day trips. The exception, not coincidentally, also involved my godchild's family.
Rich, Young and Pretty (1951) could have been much more designed to annoy me personally, but I still resent that the eleven-minute, half-montage recapitulation of the ill-fated romance of Wendell Corey and Danielle Darrieux may be the closest thing to romantic comedy he left on film. As an American ex-serviceman starstruck with a Parisian cabaret singer, he is genuinely cute as he sits in on the rehearsal she invited him to after the whirlwind of showing him the town, glancing shyly up at her and self-consciously around at her castmates as if uncertain how much of the performance she is seriously addressing to him—there's danger in your eyes, chéri, but I don't care—and how much is fourth-wall teasing, but then he just lets her look into his face so softly as she finishes the song as if she means it after all—just tell me when and where, my heart will meet you there—that it's as odd and prim a dodge for them not to kiss by its close as for the script to avoid entirely the present-day question of whether he's ever gotten over being loved and left by her. The film which wraps around this flashback is otherwise composed of idiot balls, which it juggles until it suddenly gives up and throws them all at the audience; it is indeed heteronormative as balls and Wendell Corey should have sued his mustache. In the small and impeccably officious part of a maître d', at least, it does contain Hans Conried.
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We have maps and borscht!
*hugs*
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Thank you! I am looking forward.
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Too bad about Rich, Young and Pretty (I laughed at the idiot balls), but wow, how tenderly you paint that picture of Wendell Corey looking up at Danielle Darrieux! I felt all intimate and shy just reading it!
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Thank you! I am tired to the point where, when I stop moving, I am likely not to move for some time, but it is good to be here.
Too bad about Rich, Young and Pretty (I laughed at the idiot balls), but wow, how tenderly you paint that picture of Wendell Corey looking up at Danielle Darrieux! I felt all intimate and shy just reading it!
It's an incredibly sweet scene! It deserved a better movie.
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I've ended up with the opposite issue, after driving a Prius most often for ... a while (well over a decade). When I've had to rent a car while traveling (never very often and not recently), I've opted for a Toyota Yaris because it's even easier to park and all the bits are in familiar places. Thus part of my brain has wondered upon each rental why the engine does not pause and rest at intervals, especially when the weather was middling, the roads were quite flat, etc.
Mazel tov to your godchild, imminently.
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Thank you. I can see how the reverse would be jarring.
(We had contracted to rent a mid-size car, but there were none available when we arrived to pick it up and ended up with a new-model SUV.)
Mazel tov to your godchild, imminently.
I will pass it on!
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Thank you! So far, so good.