The girl burst out laughing; she knew she was nobody's meat
I was going to write several things about Moonstruck (1987), which Viking Zen screened for me earlier this evening, and then while showering I realized that the film is an utterly valid retelling of Little Red Riding Hood—à la Angela Carter, not Charles Perrault. I seen a wolf in every person I ever met and I see a wolf in you. You tell me a story and you think you know what it means, but I see the true story and you can't. You run to the wolf in me, that don't make you no lamb. And her wine-red dress, and the full moon. I love stories where the folktales are there like bones. More ensemble romantic comedies should have barely metaphorical lycanthropy.

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It's three different characters' lines, but they all point up the wolf-imagery—I noticed them going by, but I didn't realize how much of a pattern they made until after the film was over. Which kind of makes me want to see it all over again; fortunately, Eric hasn't seen Moonstruck, either.