It may have been my idea. Who can pinpoint the exact moment an idea takes shape?
But if I am going down for the crime of having dragged everyone into the theater that evening, I am taking A.O. Scott down with me. It was Mr. Scott who wrote the New York Times review that led me to believe that Eat, Pray, Love, the movie, was more than the sum of its verbs.
Here is the excerpt from his review that stayed with me: "... insouciant, unshaven charm" Also: "Javier Bardem"
Which pretty much sums up this movie except for the other 135 minutes from which all charm has been completely exfoliated.
The result is a movie-going experience so numbingly awful that I begin to see literary potential in the two hours and 10 minutes I spent waiting for my luggage to arrive.
We are a few days into the South Florida leg of Margarita Tour 2010 when we are brought low by our faith in New York Times movie reviews and a weakness for unshaven men.
All my friends and I can do is exchange stares of disbelief as we shamble toward the theater exits like shipwreck survivors.
As is so often the case, the first thought that pops into my head is a selfless one: We must warn the others.
"Oh my god," I say. "We are about to do the Executive the biggest favor ever."
This stops the Litigator in her tracks. "No," she says firmly. "We are not."
She is right of course. If there is one ironclad rule of Girls Night Out, other than the two-drink minimum, it is this: conspiracies against absent posse members are to be encouraged.
And so we feel compelled to convince the Executive that Eat, Pray, Love is not a two hour and 20 minute Hallmark card read aloud over a lunch of cafeteria spaghetti.
It might have worked if not for the fact that the first opportunity falls to The Psychologist, who is prone to bouts of empathy and cannot bring herself to follow through.
Also, the Executive is no fool. If it is so good, she counters, why not see it again with her?
But no vacation is long enough for that.
Photo: At 2 hours and 10 minutes running time, Sit, Wait, Trudge explores one woman's quest for the perfect carry-on.
I'm dying over here. :)
Posted by: mr lady | August 24, 2010 at 03:17 PM
Exactly like dying. In a Hallmark store. Beneath a shelf of "Chicken Soup" books and healing crystal key chains.
Posted by: Suburban Kamikaze | August 25, 2010 at 03:02 PM
Thanks for the movie review.
I'm trudging through the book now. I simply devoured the "Eat" part, but am using the "Pray" section in place of my usual nightly glas of wine and Ambien.
Posted by: Seriously, Jess | August 25, 2010 at 03:58 PM
Ha! At least mine had some support. Yours was whiny. Like the book.
Posted by: Paulita | August 25, 2010 at 05:05 PM
Well you certainly took the harder position.
Posted by: Suburban Kamikaze | August 25, 2010 at 05:59 PM
Posted by: Audubon Ron | August 26, 2010 at 07:44 PM
I will take that to mean "good point."
Posted by: Suburban Kamikaze | August 27, 2010 at 04:21 PM
I may never eat Pasta again. It was that bad. And that's my whole review...
Posted by: nthnglsts | September 11, 2010 at 10:21 AM
The Italian ministry of tourism was better served by "Casino Royale."
Posted by: Suburban Kamikaze | September 11, 2010 at 02:53 PM