And yet.
I recently discovered that I don't actually hate your chick flicks, after all. Let me explain.
When I was younger, I wanted my movies to challenge me. Drugstore Cowboy
Then a little something called life happened. Now that, as an adult, life is itself a challenge, I don't particularly need my movies to be so, too. Gimme beauty, fun, frivolity. Hell, a few songs never hurt, either.
My slow descent from art house cinema started innocently enough with the period drama. I've always been fascinated with the past, and until they discover a time machine that actually works, the period drama is the closest I'll ever get to experiencing it.(Visit here for a fantastic selection of period dramas, listed by era.)
Now within the category of the period drama is an important subset called the costume drama. Beautiful clothes makes me happy, so is it any surprise that I'd slap down $12 to see pretty ladies shrink wrapped in corsets and crusted in jewels? Gimme some costume loving, particularly set in the distant past,
Sophia Coppola's incomparable Marie Antoinette
: confectionery color palette shaded with human darkness = one fine movie
and I'll eat out of your hand.
Historical drama, corset classic... all merely gateway drugs, my friends. It was only a matter of time ...
Sometime in the past year, I desperately tried to justify a binge of frothy romantic comedies. That's when it occurred to me: chick flicks can be redeemed! All it takes is a special kind of main character: strong, silent, occasionally wooden ... (but not like this). Houses! I mean houses, folks. When an architectural gem figures prominently enough to stand up to the lead actors, you can count me in.
My introduction to this phenomenon was the stinker Practical Magic
I've spun many a daydream around this house. Ballroom, library; there's square footage enough for a smorgasboard of theme rooms! Do I even need to mention that the whole thing overlooks the ocean? *Sigh*.
The next fantasy cinema home I fell for was in Under the Tuscan Sun
in which Diane Lane lives out the universal fantasy of making over a stately but stubborn Italian. Mark my words, next time I get divorced, I'm moving straight to the Italian countryside to plonk down my alimony payments on a crumbling gem-in-the-rough. (NB to Mr. Sybarite: I'm only kidding, honey. Ti amo!)
With Nights in Rodanthe
Having now fully embraced the romantic comedy genre, I had no problem seeing It's Complicated
Apparently, the decor of the Diane Keaton film Something's Gotta Give
And though it may be common to focus on the backdrops of rom coms, is it, well... odd? Are we freaks? Do men do this too? Judging by the general male desperation to avoid romcoms, I'd say not so much. Just what is this about, anyway?
I can only speak for myself. I only went deep into the genre after my daughter was born. Initially I thought sleep deprivation had lowered my entertainment bar. But I've connected the dots and recognize that my chick-flick-house obsessed mode kicked in during my 2nd trimester. Nesting is a scientifically documented phenomenon amongst pregnant mammals. So maybe this fascination for the beautiful homes in film arises out of that urge, itself -- I would argue -- part of our ancient gathering instinct. At least, that's what I like I tell myself when I feel overwhelmed by the need to make my house perfect. (It's not me -- it's millenia of evolution driving me to comb through the Craigslist furniture section for hours on end!) Does that not echo the eons that women have been sifting through fields looking for edibles to bring home? Can we help it if even in the dark of the movie theater, we're still unconsciously feathering our nests, providing the best living environment possible?
Being a SAHM (stay-at-home-mom) has only exacerbated my house fixation; mostly because I've never spent so much time actually in my house. Much of that time I'm stuck on the floor with my daughter, leaving my mind to roam... to improved furniture placement.
Like a toddler arranging every toy car in his collection by size and color, maybe I've become a bit obsessive about whipping my house into ideal shape. Having everything in its place is soothing. Toddlers obsessively order their little worlds in reaction to the big scary, unordered world to which they are just waking up. Hmmm... big, scary, unordered world... sounds a bit like brand new motherhood.
Nuts. Does that mean I have to admit Hollywood is on to something, and knows me better than I know myself? Fine, just don't expect me to interrupt anyone's wedding to make a public declaration about it. Blatantly plagiarising the work of production designers, on the other hand -- I do.
I want to live in the Rachel Getting Married house. It is perfection from the sprawling yard to the mis-matched dishes. Love, Sylv
ReplyDeleteYes!! I loved that house, too - especially with the samba dancers in it.
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