A Guy Movie and a Chick Flick

Last night was supposed to be "the night". I was looking so forward to it. I was excited about it. I might have even posted about it on Facebook, that's how much I could not wait for "the night". Something was going to happen that has not happened in a long, long, long time. I was going to be alone. All alone. Just me, my couch, my three dogs. And of course the world of a couple of good movies.

You see, the kids were to sleep at Nana's. DH was to go out with an old buddy of his that was back in town. And I was going to make myself a lovely dinner for one that required nothing more than nuking it in the microwave, pour myself a glass of wine, and try and catch up on this year's Oscar Movies. I had it all planned. First: Inglorious Basterds. Next: The Blind Side. And finally: The Hurt Locker.

The kids went to Nana's early in the day. I actually took a nap in anticipation of a late night, just like Scarlette O'Hara at Twelve Oaks' Bar-b-que. When I woke up, it was over. DH was not going out. His plans fell through. My heart sank. My dreams were crushed. If I wanted to watch any movie, I would have to watch it with him sitting like a distracted child at Midnight Mass. DH does not sit through movies well.

After a hassle with some take out dinner that required two hours to mend I was finally able to watch a movie. Since DH was home, I chose a real "GUY MOVIE". Can't get anymore "GUY MOVIE" than Quentin Tarantino. And since the restaurant where we ordered take out had screwed up our order three times, I was in the mood for a good ole', violent, Tarantino movie. Not to mention Brad Pitt is easy on the eyes and might make up for Fidgety McFidgets who was sharing the couch with me. So, Inglorious Basterds it was.

I love Quentin Tarantino. If his name is attached to it, I want to watch it. I love his sick, twisted, violent sense of humor. I love that he shows no apologies for his overuse of the F word or off color humor. If that makes me sick and twisted too, then so be it. He does movies. He entertains. He's imaginative in the most bizarre ways. I don't get offensive easily. I'm a big believer in the phrase "It's just a movie".

So, with rage in my heart due to a disappointing evening, I watched Inglorious Basterds. Bottom line...it just wasn't violent enough. Crazy, huh? A grown woman...a MOM...is complaining that a movie wasn't violent enough. But let's face it: deep, down inside I think Moms are probably the most violent. We have that whole "Mama Bear" built inside of us that is just waiting to be unleash. Fortunately, God has given us the gift of common sense to counteract the rage we have boiling in the pits of our belly.

Don't get me wrong. Inglorious Basterds is violent. Just not as violent as most Quentin Tarantino movies tend to be. In my opinion, anyway. But it made me think that maybe Tarantino held back a smidge because in reality, World War II in Europe with Nazis is already a violent thought. Anyone who has picked up a history book or watched the History Channel knows the blood that was shed over in Europe. It was horrible. It was nightmarish. It was a shame to the human race. Maybe it's good that Tarantino held back.

In spite of the fact that the movie takes place during WWII and has Nazis as it's main focus, the movie is campy, fun, and humorous. It has that traditional Tarantino style, 70's cheese factor to it that only Tarantino does so well. I found Brad Pitt not so easy on the eyes in this movie, looking more like Marlon Brando in his Godfather days. Nevertheless, Brad Pitt was hilarious in this movie. It was a different role for him and he did it well.

I should also make note of Christoph Waltz who played a character who was nicknamed "The Jew Hunter". He was frightening and yet humorous at the same time. To combine that gleam of evil with the laugh of a court jester and to make me worried at one moment and laugh out loud the next was brilliant. Christoph Waltz truly deserved his Oscar for Best Supporting Actor.

The movie ended just after midnight and DH looked a bit relieved that he could now get up from the couch, play with the fan, tease the dogs, take a leak, grab a drink without me glaring at him. The channel that just happened to be on was one of those Women Channel that usually play movies about women getting justice, becoming stronger, fighting for their rights or a reality show that let's everyone know just how bitchy a woman can get over a wedding gown, swapping places with someone else, or trying to handle clowncar full of babies.

It just happened to be that this particular channel was playing Steel Magnolias. It had just started and DH was quick to comment "What is this? A chick flick?"
Yes. It's a chick flick. But not just any chick flick. It's the ULTIMATE CHICK FLICK.

This is not a romantic comedy. This is not cutesy. This is not quirky. And it doesn't star Matthew McConaughey. The only thing quirky and cutesy is the names. I never realized it until last night, but people named M'Lynn, Drum, Spud, Ouiser, and Clairee? That's whole lot of bad parenting going on.

I had not seen Steel Magnolias since before my children were born. Since before I even got married. It was the ultimate chick flick back then and it's the ultimate chick flick today. It makes you laugh and it makes you cry. Okay...it makes you sob. I'm talking ugly, sobbing, snot releasing cry.

I love how this movie has holidays in the background as a time table. I thought that was so great. And since it begins and ends with Easter, what a perfect movie to watch at the very beginning of Holy Week. I love the southern accents. I love how corny it sounds when Julia Roberts drawls out "My colors are Blush and Bashful."
I love Sally Fields. I just don't just really like her. I love her! And I love Tom Skerrit as the dad.

I love the friendship between the women. It's something I can relate to. I come from a circle of friends that is now establishing it's third generation of memories. There is nothing like a great friend to make you laugh when all you want to do is hit something or someone out of hopelessness and despair. (See, I told you Moms are full of rage. Maybe it's not the gift of common sense, but rather the gift of friendship that gets us through those angry times.)

Having not seen the movie in years, I saw one scene in a whole new way. When Jackson comes home to dinner burning on the stove, his toddler crying and screaming with fear, and Shelby collapsed on the floor...that just tugged at my heart. I think every mother has a fear of something suddenly happening to them physically while they are alone with their small children. Something that would render them useless and leave their children all alone and scared, too young to understand. Too young to deal with the situation. Too young to save itself from danger. To me, that was the most heart wrenching scene. And there is no friend in that scene to make it better. To pull that giggle out of you. To cradle your child and tell it everything will be okay. It's just your child, all alone and with no control.

Last night was not the night I was looking forward to. But it wasn't that bad either. I did get to see one Oscar nominated movie and really enjoyed it. And I watched the ultimate chick flick. I guess, when something doesn't quite go your way there is nothing greater than curling up on the couch watching a good angry movie or a warm, touching flick. Or both.