Last night, my besties and I watched West Side Story. I’d seen it before (a few times, actually), and was therefore snickering in advance of the ever-rising homoerotic tension and hackneyed dialogue. But Jo and Toni had not previously experienced the dubious delights of high-kicking gangs in tight pants, and since Jo is slowly working her way through the AFI’s 100 Best Movies (or whatever the list is officially called; I am too lazy to Google it), we sat through the whole thing.
I remember having to watch it in music class in high school (to this day, I’m not entirely sure why), and for weeks afterward, my friend Al and I would snap our fingers and poorly imitate dance moves while cackling inanely. So much for the timeless tale of star-cross’d lovers appealing to sensitive youths.
I suppose I qualify as a closet romantic, if you stipulate that the closet door is barricaded by shoeboxes full of cynicism and irony. Well, maybe that’s not entirely true. I cried BUCKETS over The Time Traveler’s Wife (the trailer looks like shit, and I am not sold on the casting, but I probably will end up seeing the damn movie), and I have been known to melt over various other books and films. Real life romance, however, freaks me out a little.
Mother has a theory that I’m getting too set in my ways (read: independent and mean to guys) to ever find a mate. I would say that her old-fashioned leanings are leading her to believe I need a man to look after me, but she also believes that my brother needs someone to look after him (who, incidentally, would also need to be a man). It’s probably more true in his case. Once, I demanded to know why my big brother never bothered beating up guys on my behalf, and he said it was because I could do it on my own. True. I’m more intimidating than my brother (but less than my little sister). I suppose going to Thailand to live in a jungle and learn to kick box will only exacerbate this.
July 13, 2009 at 5:46 am
I’m the only person I know who’s read The Time Traveller’s Wife whose response is “well, it’s okay…” At least two good friends of mine threatened me with physical violence for my heresy. What am I missing?
July 13, 2009 at 12:48 pm
Clearly, you have no soul.
I jest! PROBABLY, you have no soul. I don’t know… it was the sweeping romanticism, the damning inevitability of the tragic end, the bittersweetness of life post-death, love overcoming all obstacles…. It got me, man.
You’re not alone, though. They had a comment thread on Jezebel awhile back (when the trailer hit) that was half people who loved it, and half people who thought it was awful and that Henry was a manipulative creeper. Mother isn’t even sure if she liked it; her handicap was that she hates time travel, though.
July 13, 2009 at 11:31 pm
Well, see, I ADORED the first 50-100 pages or so, when the book is more about the romantic inevitability of the whole thing. There’s something elliptically beautiful about the whole thing when we’re getting these portent-filled fragments. When the mood of the book was more about longing and distance and connection and less about (to be blunt) the characters.
I hate to make this reference since it’s really nerdy, but it’s like the issue of WATCHMEN (this bit wasn’t really in the movie) that’s from the perspective of Dr. Manhatten, the dude who no longer perceives time in a linear matter. The way he can see both the beginning and the end of his relationship with Laurie as he’s in the middle of arguing with her in the ‘present day’ is presented very powerfully, and in this kind of moving, bittersweet way, and the first third, maybe of the Time Traveller’s Wife hit me the same way.
But then they meet in real life, and we settle into this really quotidian account of their day-to-day life. It’s not poorly done (although both Claire AND Henry are just a wee bit too Mary Sue-ish at times for me), it’s just not what I loved from the first part of the book.
And sure enough, given how I felt about the rest of it, I think the book improves immeasurably after Henry’s death (or is that ‘after’ his death?). The ending sequences are just gutting, really powerful stuff. So when I say it’s okay, I don’t mean it doesn’t move me, just that I feel like it’s a competent 500-page doorstop romance novel with some interesting sci-fi flavouring that has a really beautiful, moving, powerful 200 page book lurking inside of it somewhere.
Part of me wants to write that book or (a bit like Pride & Prejudice & Zombies) edit it out of the volume we actually have. But that’s not a great idea for at least a couple of reasons.