I’ve always hung around with artsy intellectual types and felt like I should like foreign films and art films, but in the end I really just like Hollywood movies (as opposed to films). I’m not into the big action blockbusters, but I like the small comedies and chick flicks and dramas and suspense and kids’ movies and family movies and quasi-artsy Hollywood movies.
So this weekend Diane and I watched “My Life as a Dog,” because it was one of those foreign/artsy films that everybody talked about for about 20 minutes back in the 80s, and I had never seen it, because I was probably too busy watching Batman or Field of Dreams or some other non-artsy, non-foreign movie.
All I knew about the movie was that a kid gets his penis stuck in a bottle, and that it was charming. And after watching it, I figured out why that was all anyone talked about. It was because the bottle scene happened right in the beginning of the movie, and after that, everyone fell asleep.
I fell asleep, then woke up just in time to watch Diane fall asleep. Diane, who is almost without pretense, said, “I think I fell asleep the first time I saw this movie, but I felt bad about it because it was supposed to be so good.”
I ended up seeing the end, and liking it, for the most part. It was charming, and there’s this one funny scene about a bottle, but I didn’t like it as much as, say, The Bourne Supremacy.
We put the paper to bed at about 5:30 this afternoon. There’s always a feeling of apprehension until Tuesday afternoon, when we see the paper and find out about all the mistakes we made. Someday it’s going to be perfect. Just once.