Last two nights, functionally without sleep. Meh.
This afternoon I watched Real Genius (1985) with
rushthatspeaks for the first time since a party in high school when I suspect I read through most of it, because all I remembered was a couple of lines and the house exploding with popcorn. It is an actual science fiction comedy. It has repartee as fast as screwball and with the same deadpan slant sensibility. ("I want to see more of you around the lab."—"Fine. I'll gain weight.") The plot is not idiot and the plans aren't foolproof. I love how the name "Pacific Tech" is mentioned exactly once near the beginning of the film and then gotten out of the way so that it won't distract from the viewer's observation of Caltech architecture and graffiti. But what I really love, and I suspect the reason the movie has the cult following it does, is that unlike almost every other movie with brilliant characters, no matter how socially skilled or maladept, it never undercuts them. What's at issue is the protagonists' ability to evolve an awareness of contexts and applications to go with their pure research, which is one hundred percent differentiated from socially normative behavior. There are no apologies or excuses made for Jordan and her breathless, sleepless, hyperkinetic intensity; her technical competence is apparently unlimited (absentminded knitting is one thing, late-night floor-sanding is another, on-the-fly dentistry is something else again) and her romance with Mitch is incredibly sweet and doesn't require any alterations to either of their personalities. They bond over beta-testing her rebreather at a pool party. Mitch himself is a believable fifteen-year-old, shy and studious as he enters CalPacific Tech, but not the point of caricature—of course his emotional maturity isn't as far along as his intellect, but he still knows to flee from the woman who's been collecting the top ten minds in America. I adore Chris' habit of identifying his defense mechanisms ("It's yet another in a long series of diversions in an attempt to avoid responsibility") and then cheerfully continuing with them, partly because it's an early tip to the way in which his situation will blindside him—even knowing the cautionary tale of Lazlo and having dedicated himself to trolling the concept of higher education in general, he's still never stopped to wonder what anyone wants a five-megawatt laser for—but partly because it is just a lovely defining trait: even when he wises up, he doesn't stop being a wiseass. And Ick is a guy with perfectly normal social skills who just happens to be able to make instantly sublimating ice that probably won't explode. Even the villain isn't stupid. Hathaway could have averted the students' entire revenge if his ego had allowed him to admit to a problem, but to call the test off on suspicion of tampering is more challenge to his authority than he can tolerate. And so the spectacular finale. It is always a pleasure to see a movie or read a book that's actually as smart as its characters; Real Genius' title means it.
For dinner tonight,
derspatchel and I made: steaks with two different kinds of dry rub, rare-seared in the skillet; creamed spinach with garlic and Dubliner cheese; baked potatoes with two more kinds of cheese; and apple pie with maple syrup and cinnamon sugar glazed on top. All items from scratch except for the spinach, which came already sautéed with garlic, and the pie crust, which we bought from the healthy crunchy aisle at Shaw's. Did we just accidentally celebrate Thanksgiving? Canadian Thanksgiving? Help?
This afternoon I watched Real Genius (1985) with
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For dinner tonight,
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