Barrett at the Movies

"The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel" is a movie invented in a laboratory, and the lab was staffed by people who know exactly what I want.

These people had an x-ray of my heart on display, and this x-ray led them to toss together: Judi Dench, Maggie Smith, Tom Wilkinson, a majestic ibis (I think it's an ibis?), and many stunning shots of glittery palaces and broad rivers. This is all I want from a film. Why do others find this hard to grasp?

The story doesn't matter, but basically it's Judi Dench emerging from a forty-year marriage and realizing she has never had "agency." She travels to India, to a new "retirement" home, to try to do something with her life. She finds a job (her first); she seems to be a kind of coach for telemarketers, and this is appropriate, because she herself has been brutally mistreated by telemarketers. ("I'm sorry your husband has died.....Let me tell you about our attractive new offerings....")

Meanwhile, Tom Wilkinson, approaching the script as if it were "King Lear," does really lovely work as a grieving gay man in search of an old friend.

There are cliches and underwritten patches (the Maggie Smith character doesn't fully make sense to me), but you get to see Judi rising above her material, and her public-speaking scene ("This is the first speech I've ever given in my life") .....is worthy of three or four hankies.

I picked this movie because Roger Ebert championed it--somewhere around one decade ago. Marc and I had a great time.

Comments

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

Joshie

When I was growing up, a class birthday involved Hostess cupcakes. Often, the cupcakes would come in a shoebox, so you could taste a leathery residue (during the party). Times change. You can't bring a treat into a public school, in 2024, because heaven knows what kind of allergies might lurk, in unseen corners, in the classroom. But Joshua's teacher will allow: a dance party, a pajama day, or a guest reader. I chose to bring a story for Joshua's birthday (observed), but I didn't think through the role that anxiety might play in this interaction. We talk, in this house, quite a bit about anxiety; one game-changer, for J, has been a daily list of activities, so that he knows exactly what to expect. He gets a look of profound satisfaction when he sees the agenda; it doesn't really matter what the specific events happen to be. It's just about knowing, "I can anticipate X, Y, and Z." Joshua struggled with his celebration. He wore his nervousness on his f...

Josh at Five

Joshie's project is "flexibility"; the goal is to see that a plan is just an idea, not a gospel, not a guarantee. This is difficult. Yesterday, we went to a restaurant--billed as "open," with unlocked doors--and the owner informed us of an "error in advertising." But Joshie couldn't accept the word "closed." He threw himself on the floor, then climbed on the furniture. I felt for the owner, until he nervously made a reference to "the glass windows." He imagined that my child might toss himself through a sealed window, like Mary Katherine Gallagher, or like Bruce Willis, in "Die Hard." Then--thank the Lord!--I was able to laugh. The thing that really has therapeutic value for Joshie is: a firetruck. If we are out in public, and he spots a parked truck, he wants to climb on each surface. He breathlessly alludes to the wheels, the door, the windows. If an actual fire station ("fire ocean," in Joshie's parla...

Liars and Saints

Search This Blog