From Nostalgia to Now: Election Connection

When Election came out in 1999, I wanted to see it.  A twisty tale about the evils of high school politics starring Reese Witherspoon?  Yes, please.  After all, I was a high school senior myself and could relate.  Not because I ever ran for office or wanted to, but because the social maze of schooldays were a struggle.  Then again, maybe that's why I ended up not seeing it.

Fast forward to 2020 and the pandemic, which meant that I was catching up on old movies.  One night I was scrolling through my options when Election came up.  Twenty-two years later, and it was finally time.  It was so good!  Witherspoon made the perfect Tracy Flick, an overbearing overachiever intent on becoming student government president no matter what.  And Chris Klein was her ideal foil as Paul, the affable, big-man-on-campus puppet primed to defeat her.  I enjoyed it so much that I ordered the book, by Tom Perrotta, whom I'd heard of but never read.  Not surprisingly, it was even better than the movie, a rich character study of suburbia told baldly from multiple points of view.  So last fall when I heard that there was a sequel to Election called Tracy Flick Can't Win, I was pumped.       

In this installment, Perrotta introduces us to a forty-something version of the high school anti-hero (cue the Taylor Swift).  Tracy's not a senator or even a lawyer like she planned, but a single mom and assistant principal.  For all her scheming and dreaming, she's right back where she started, a big fish in a small pond campaigning to be, not president, but principal.  Still, Perrotta gives us a more vulnerable and nuanced look at her, especially as she comes to terms with sleeping with her English teacher.  Indeed, the novel is full of wronged women, their stories woven like faded rainbows in Perrotta's crazy quilt of suburban satire.  His skill in describing women is impressive, especially when writing about them dealing with -- and falling for -- men who are their superiors.  As they blame themselves for what happened to them, it's all too clear how the patriarchy sets up women to fail.  Yet Perrotta reminds us that, in many ways, it sets up men to fail too.  No character is all good or bad, and that's what makes Perrotta's storytelling so realistic.  Regardless of the obstacles these troubled souls face, they do the best with what they've got.      

And that's always worth voting for.

Partridge in a Pear Wee

 Fruit Basket Bounty Necklace

Punchy Produce Charm Bracelet

Top: Lily Star, Target

Skirt: Hollister, Marshalls

Shoes: Zulily

Bag: Sleepyville Critters, Amazon

Belt: Marshalls

Yellow bracelet: Amrita Singh, Zulily

Barrette: The Tote Trove

It may not be the first day of Christmas.  Or even the second.  But I won't let that stop me from posting 1) my Christmas Day and two-days-after-Christmas-lunch-with-the-husband's-grandmother outfits or 2) my new fruit-themed jewelry.  Also, in case you hadn't noticed, in the first photo, I'm standing by a picture of -- yes, you see it -- fruit.

And now for something that doesn't involve actual fruit but is the color of a cartoon watermelon: this here elf.

I got him at Michaels for 70% off yesterday.  I'd been eyeing him up all season, trying to decide if he was cute or grotesque or somewhere in between.  For a supposed wee one, he made for a very large ornament.  "He's weird," I observed, turning him over in my hands, "but he's only $3."  "Well, then that's $3 worth of weird," said the husband.  As you know, weird always wins out with me.  I plunked him into my basket.

Now, you may be thinking that this is especially weird because my last post was about the (fictional) murder of the Elf on the Shelf.  But I assure you that this merry not-quite mite is in no such danger and is much safer at my house than he would be at Michaels (who knows what miscreants roam those aisles?).  Even if earlier today I noticed that the husband had moved him from his spot at the base of the fireplace to a new perch on the steps.  Then I moved him to the love seat to photograph him.  He's still there.  Let's see if the husband says anything.   

Aw, too late.  He came in not a minute ago with his knowledge all over his face.  And then, obvi, he saw me writing this.  Guess this kidnap-and-go-seek of a melony felony's over.  Wait.  Felony Melanie.  That was Reese Witherspoon's character's nickname in Sweet Home Alabama.  Which has nothing to do with anything.

Except . . . Melanie/Reese stealing from Michaels might make for a good movie.  I can see it now: Craft Crimes: When Bitches Get Stitches.  Only it would be "bitches" in an empowering way because Melanie/Reese would be lifting yarn and paint for creative geniuses in a women's shelter.  Get ready for a montage starring graffiti.  Also, a cameo from Bad Seed.

That's going to be my elf's stage name.   

Oliphant in the Room . . .

. . . is a pun I can't take credit for (or, for you grammar sticklers, a pun for which I can't take credit).  That's because Eleanor Oliphant said it.  Eleanor is like Susan Green on steroids.  She's particular.  She's an introvert.  She's extremely blunt and judgmental.  She's from the U.K. (albeit Scotland instead of England.)  And she tells us all about it in Gail Honeyman's award-winning Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine.  (Full disclosure: this too is a Reese's Book Club pick, and I heard about it on The Cactus's cover.)  But this is the thing (although, if you have a sense of irony, you've probably already figured it out).  Eleanor is not completely fine.  Not even close.  Because beneath her sometimes endearing, sometimes cringeworthy armor of social awkwardness is a world of pain and a deep, dark secret.  She's afraid to rock the boat of her life because the boat she used to be on was burning.  And it isn't until she meets Raymond, the also awkward but confident IT guy at work, that she begins to get better.

Now, I'm not going to say a whole lot about the plot of this book.  Because that would spoil it.  But I will say that Eleanor and Raymond forge a slow, strange friendship.  It defies convention and depends, in part, upon Raymond's patience and good humor.  But it's something that Eleanor desperately needs, even if she can't admit it.  For her, the loner life has become a fortress against growth.  It's a safe space that's starting to suffocate her, even as she clings to it.     

"Some people, weak people, fear solitude.  What they fail to understand is that there's something very liberating about it; once you realize that you don't need anyone, you can take care of yourself.  You can't protect other people, however hard you try."  (134)

Eleanor knows that she can't play the game, and that this is part of why she's alone.  Yet in letting Raymond into her life, she's forced to interact with other people.  And this makes her realize that she needs to bend, however slightly.

"I wasn't good at pretending, that was the thing.  . . . I could see no point in being anything other than truthful with the world.  I had, literally, nothing left to lose.  But, by careful observation from the sidelines, I'd worked out that social success is often built on pretending just a little." (198)

So, Eleanor opens herself up to new experiences.  And she stumbles and learns.  Yet she still holds fast to what makes her, well, her.  Which is a sign of strength and bravery, especially after all she's been through.

"Although it's good to try new things and to keep an open mind, it's also extremely important to stay true to who you really are.  I read that in a magazine at the hairdressers."  (174)

Masterful and moving, Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine is about finding your best self without losing yourself.  I'm not going to lie; it's sometimes hard to read.  But it's also funny and sad and satisfying and all the best things that you (okay, I) want from a novel.

Moving on.

Here are some vintage brooches that I embellished.  The first one is hard to make out - just like our heroine -- but it's an elephant.  And the second one is, of course, a sailboat.  I think that they go well with this post, being old and tired and then shiny and new but still old in a good way.  Even if Eleanor is no champion of crafters, describing one of her colleagues as making hideous jewelry for hideous people.  Or something.

But I won't hold that against her.  I know it's not her fault.  And that she prefers doing crosswords.  

Calling All Cacti: Late Bloom Baby Boom, Drink it In

Cactus cardigan: Collectif X, Modcloth
Cacti blouse: Amazon
Floral surplice top: Flying Tomato, Marshalls

 Arid Elegance Necklaces

Fabulous Felt Yellow Cactus Barrette, Fabulous Felt Pink Cactus Barrette 

Susan Green is a cool customer. She wears only black and gray, she likes rules, she collects cacti, and she never lets anything get in her way -- or, to use Mindy Kaling's parlance, she's a very busy woman who never has time for fun.  So, she's a classic rom com heroine.  And Sarah Haywood's The Cactus, which is a selection of Reese Witherspoon's book club, is the story of how this chick gets, well, lit.  Metaphorically.  Although there is a fair bit of wine drinking.

Forty-five-year-old Susan informs us, in her no-frills, straightforward way, that her mother has just passed away and that she's facing an unplanned pregnancy.  The father is a like-minded, no-nonsense professional with whom she had an "arrangement."   So, a boyfriend without the hassle -- or romance. She also has a ne'er do well younger brother who seems intent on ruining her life by swindling her out of her inheritance.  But he also happens to have this friend . . .

Ah yes, the friend.  The male friend who's appealing and funny and kind despite being a borderline ne'er do well too.  In this instance, he's Rob, the professional gardener, and his oat sowing days are behind him.  Now he's ready to put down roots, becoming a constant if held-at-arms-length fixture in Susan's life.  I know what you're thinking: we've seen this before!  Susan's the prickly, tough-skinned succulent, and Rob is the loosey-goosey horticulturist with the patience to penetrate her guarded layers.  Which makes this book sound like a bodice ripper and/or a Hallmark mush fest, but it's neither.  For one thing, there is zero sex, not even a kiss.  And the tiny bit of emotion that eventually does eke out is hard-won and all the sweeter for it.  

The thing about Susan is, she's the opposite of America's sweetheart (and not just because she's British) and of what the world expects women to be.  Instead of being warm and selfless, she's self-contained and standoffish, like one of those HBO antiheroes that it's hard to like.  That said, her inner sanctum can be an uncomfortable place.  She's so rigid that she sometimes seems inhuman, and her lack of self awareness can be as annoying as it is gently funny.  Here are a couple of glimpses into her head:

"It could simply be, however, that I was aware from an early age that a close relationship with a boy or man -- or indeed anyone -- would undermine my freedom, dilute my individualism, take up precious time and cause the unnecessary expenditure of emotional energy.  Looked at logically like that, it's astonishing that any rational person would want to engage in intimate relationships." (195-196)

"As you're aware, I've always been the author of my own destiny.  We can choose how to define ourselves, and I define myself as an autonomous and resourceful woman.  What I lack in terms of family and other close personal relationships is more than compensated for by my rich inner life, which is infinitely more constant and dependable." (205)

From Susan's point of view, she's protecting herself.  Why throw caution to the wind in an unstable world when you can craft your own custom, temperature-controlled solarium full of indestructible, botanical wonders?  Yet despite all this, or maybe because of it, I can't help but like her.  Especially when she shares some story from her past that's so sad you want to be that one kid she can turn to when she's alone on the playground.  And that's what keeps the reader -- and, I imagine Rob -- interested.  Speaking of which, this is what he has to say:

"He picked up each of the containers in turn, remarking that several of the plants were pot-bound and would soon cease to thrive if they weren't repotted.  And light, too, he said -- they would benefit from being in a position with more direct sunlight, at least six hours a day.  I must say, although I may have been impressed by his expertise in plant cultivation, I was more than a little disgruntled.  I've managed to nurture some very impressive specimens without anyone else's interference.  Admittedly, none of them has ever bloomed, but that's a detail." (217)

Rob is saying that Susan's doing a mostly fine job with her cacti -- but that they'd be better off with some changes.  Predictably, Susan bristles, going as far as to say so what if her plants have never bloomed?  But she knows, deep down, that Rob's right.  Because although green (and indeed Green) can symbolize a tough as nails cactus, it can also mean inexperience and vulnerability.  As accomplished as Susan is in the rest of her life, she's awkward when it comes to people.  Which is mostly fine; we don't all have to be social butterflies!  Still, in (tentatively) accepting Rob's friendship and, yes, in having a baby, she discovers that sometimes -- even for a cactus -- companionship can be nice.

The Cactus is a lovely story, a kind of middle-aged coming-of-age.  Also, it's refreshing to read about a suitor who's not, even once, the proverbial prick.

Cactus humor, you never let me d(r)own.

Spend and Snap: Perks Every Time

 80s Ella Barrettes

80s Emma Barrettes 

80s Elly Barrettes

Top: POPSUGAR, Kohl's
Floral skirt: Stoosh, Macy's
Peach skirt: Amazon
Shoes: Jessica Simpson, ROSS 
Bag: Xhilaration, Target
Belt: Wet Seal

Ah, the bend and snap.  A time-honored, much-documented parlor trick for snagging a man's attention.  Actually, I don't know about much-documented, as the only place I've seen it is in Legally Blonde.  But the dance number that exploded in that Cambridge salon was enough to convince me that it was something that girls in the know knew about.

The same can be said about barrettes (also brunettes, but that's an argument for another day).  They may not have an 83% return rate on a dinner invitation, but they do offer a 100% guarantee that you won't eat alone.  Which is to say that your barrette buds will always be with you at the breakfast buffet.  As long as you can cough up the couple of dollars to pay for them and your coffee.

Yep, barrettes are the bomb (remember when people said that?).  Here are a brunch, er bunch, that I didn't make:

Some are as photogenic as a Christmas ham, whereas others look like they oozed out from under a seven layer salad (I see you, sequins.  Beauty queens and kidney beans are the only Bs where you belong.).  But in the end that doesn't matter because they're all part of one big, happy hair family.

So, locks and lox, perfect together.  Just as long as you don't find a hair on your bagel.  

Which is why -- barrettes or not -- I steer clear of buffets. 

Junior Mint Hint: I Want Candie's

 Punchy Pendant Necklace

Top: Candie's, Kohl's

Skirt: H&M

Shoes: Jessica Simpson, ROSS Dress for Less

Bag: Guess, Macy's

Belt: Kohl's

Striped bangle: Mixit, JCPenney

Stretch bracelets: Princess Vera, Kohl's

 Pastel Princess Necklace

Top: Candie's, Kohl's

Skirt (a dress!): Kohl's

Shoes: Worthington, JCPenney

Bag: Nine West, gifted

Belt: Flotsam and jetsam from my craft room

Black bangle: Mixit, JCPenney

Blue bangle: Kohl's

Stretch bracelet: Cloud Nine

 Red Blow Bling Necklace

Top: Candie's, Kohl's

Skirt: Tinseltown, Macy's

Shoes: Chase & Chloe, Modcloth

Bag: Betsey Johnson, Modcloth

Red bangle, B Fabulous

Stretch bracelet: Amrita Singh, Zulily

Strawberry print bangle: B Fabulous

For years now, I've been gobbling up Candie's.  I like the brand because it offers lots of staples -- basics with bite that make for nice necklace backdrops.  Sometimes I get caught up in clothes that are overly fancy, which is fine ('cause I'm all for the fanciness), but that can present a problem when it's time to accessorize.  So, it's nice to have a standard-but-special go-to.  Another reason I like Candie's is because it's good quality, which is to say that most of it is made of polyester (a.k.a my miracle fabric) that never fades or wrinkles.  I remember when I first saw it all in the juniors section of the Kohl's I'd visit on my lunch break.  I thought, oh, Candie's, how exclusive, thinking of those iconic and pricey sandals in Macy's.  I didn't think I'd actually own any of it -- which was silly, considering that the stuff is pretty affordable and now takes up prime real estate in my closet.  But then, I was young and naive (and, yes, making less) and not factoring in all those now-famous Kohl's promotions.  These days I'm as addicted to Kohl's cash as much as the next middle class American, earning it only to spend it and then earn some more.  I was at my local store a couple of weeks ago when the teenage cashier handed me my bright green coupon with a somewhat jaded "now you have to come back and spend more money."  "Or go online," I said with spirit (although, looking back, this wasn't so much a retort as it was a confession; a breezy "your-job-depends-on-my-rampant-retail-therapy" would've packed much more of a punch).  That said, I did end up going online this weekend.  I ordered a yellow dress and a red sweater (Ronald McDonald forever!) for a mere twenty-six dollars including shipping.

You know how people say that if you find something you like you should buy it in every color?  Well, since the summer I've been collecting these print, lace-insert tops.  And so I thought it'd be fun to photograph them with some of my candy-themed barrettes.

There is indeed a Junior Mint in there somewhere, although, sadly, no Reese's Pieces.  But then again, I suppose you'd have to head over to Draper James for those (insert groan-slash-drum-sound-effect).  Anyway, these tops come in at least half a dozen more prints, but after the sixth one, I said enough -- it's time to move on to button-downs.  Still, they're good pieces to layer year round.  Tomorrow I'm wearing the red one over a black and white polka dot blouse, cinched with my favorite yellow belt.

I wasn't kidding about Ronald McDonald.

I'm So Hungry I Could Eat a Horse . . .

 Plucky Poultry Necklace

 Cheery Double Cheeseburger Change Purse

Dress: Zulily

Sweater: Macy's

Shoes: B.A.I.T., Zulily

Bag: Apt. 9., Kohl's

Sunglasses: Rampage, Boscov's

. . . should've been the name of Jim Gaffigan's tour instead of Fixer Upper.  The husband and I have long been fans of the pasty Midwestern food comedian and were psyched to snag tickets to his show in Atlantic City a couple of Saturdays ago.  I loved his books, and we both watched The Jim Gaffigan Show on TV Land.  So, we were all set for an evening of monologues on McDonald's and Krispy Kreme.  You can imagine our consternation, then, when Jim launched into a bit about . . . horses.  Horse races, jockeys, horse owners who seem like they've never met their cash cows in those blue ribbon photos.  The inhumane nature of horseshoes.  The idiocy of the phrase horseback riding because, where, other than the back, are you going to ride?  He even said that no one in the audience would know if he was lying about any of it or not because we were all from Philly and had probably never even seen a horse (and no, he didn't make a pun about Philly and fillies, although I don't know why the hay not).  It was kind of weird.  But also kind of awesome.  You know, in its weirdness.  (The husband really liked it and said he thought that there weren't enough horse jokes.)  He did sign off on a Hot Pockets note, though, so all was right with the fun-with-food world.

Horse or no horse, I can't do a Jim Gaffigan post without fashion featuring food.  So, order up on this Cheery Double Cheeseburger Change Purse and Plucky Poultry Necklace.  To echo the sentiments of fellow funnyman Joel McHale's The Soup, Chat Stew segment, So meaty!

Here's a not-so-short-story about Plucky Poultry.  The pendant is a dollhouse miniature, and when I first saw it, I thought that it was a lobster instead of a chicken.  And I thought, oh, that's perfect, because: 1) Whenever I'm working on something that involves glue and I leave it to dry, I keep checking on it to make sure that the glue's doing its thing, and when I do this, I (silently) refer to it as "checking the lobster pots."  Why, I don't know.  Maybe because it's folksy and strange and makes me feel like I'm doing something as high stakes as battling sharks for my dinner.  (Similarly, whenever I publish a post, I think of it as "releasing the doves."  Like at the wedding of a pesticide heiress or the funeral of a B-list pop star.)  2) Lobster makes me think of Maine and summertime fish fries.  Which makes me think of that part in Legally Blonde where Elle Woods gets to Harvard and asks for her calendar of social events and the preppy orientation guy glares at her, and she says you know, clambakes, trips to the Cape? before giving up and asking where she can find Warner Huntington III, at which point Preppy cracks, try the lido deck.  3) And finally, this crustacean-that-wasn't made me think of Jim's hatred of seafood, or, as he refers to it in Food: A Love Story, "seabugs."  (Which checks out, I guess, Indiana not being known for its shrimp cocktail.).  But this faux food charmer isn't a lobster.  It's a chicken.  Which has nothing to do with summer, Legally Blonde, or Jim Gaffigan's disgust of bottom feeders.  If anything, it's a distant cousin of Thanksgiving.  Which, come to think of it, is right in Jim's wheelhouse (elastic waist pants, Middle America fare in economy-size quantities, naps).  Which means that we've come full circle.

Just like a pumpkin pie . . . or Kentucky Derby wreath.

Movie Moment: This Means War

When I saw the trailer for This Means War last February, I knew that it was more of a rent than a see-in-the-theater.  So when rental time rolled around last weekend (and I had seen pretty much everything else), I knew that it was time to give it a try.

More romantic suspense than romantic comedy, This Means War is about uptight, type A product tester Lauren (Reese Witherspoon), a woman who is shanghaied into the wild world of online dating by her married, saltier best bud, Trish (Chelsea Handler).  Like most women faced with this predicament, Lauren is less then thrilled, worrying that she'll get chopped up in a million pieces by one of her would-be suitors.  Naturally, she ends up attracting not one but two CIA assassins (who are, of course, perfectly nice guys despite their violent profession).

She meets Tuck, (Tom Hardy -- not to be confused with that guy who wrote Tess of the d'Urbervilles), a divorced father whose British reserve is seasoned by his badass tattoos, through the online dating site and FDR (a name with a trunk-load of baggage if every there was one [Chris Pine]) in a video store (because a guy like him is too cool for online dating, but not, apparently, for the world's last Blockbuster).  FDR is the cocky playboy to Tuck's self-deprecating gentleman.  Which, of course, meant that I disliked him from "go," a prejudice that was hard to shake even after he inevitably revealed his sensitive side.

It isn't long before Tuck and FDR discover that they've fallen for the same girl.  FDR offers to back down, not wanting to give Tuck unfair competition.  Tuck, put off by his pal's patronizing ways, takes offense, an argument crops up, and before you can say, "Fire!" the boys are battling it out for the babe.  Which would be an offensively old-school scenario if said babe wasn't smarter than both blokes put together.  Not that Lauren doesn't have her doubts about dating two guys at once.  She's a nice girl, after all, despite being a professional hardass with a candy-colored office that would make Barbie drool.  But Trish dismisses Lauren's doubts, insisting that Gloria Steinem didn't sit in prison just so Lauren could "be a little bitch."   Lauren soldiers on just as Tuck and FDR plot a war of their own, taking full advantage of all the surveillance amenities in their government-appointed arsenal.  At one point both slink in and out of Lauren's house to plant bugs and suss out her likes and dislikes, completely undetected by the object of their affection as she busts out music video-worthy dance moves to Montell Jordan's "This is How We Do It."  It's one of those scenes that's so bad it's funny and probably the only place the movie ever encroaches on true rom com territory.

The rest of the plot is pretty predictable - the bf called it in about five minutes - and not truly satisfying, as I was hoping the end would swing in another direction.  Also, the plot was a little too explosion heavy for my admittedly girly tastes.  I think the cloak-and-dagger-slash-bromance stuff was mixed in with the love story to make it more guy-friendly, especially for Valentine's Day weekend, which was when the movie debuted.  But everyone was neatly paired up just in time for the credits, which was enough to keep me happy.

Movie Moment: Water for Elephants

When I bought my ticket for Water for Elephants, the clerk asked me if I'd read the book. "No," I answered, resisting the urge to insist, "But I am a reader. I'm like you! I usually do read the book before seeing the movie." Perhaps this somewhat dramatic internal reaction was brought on by my trip to Borders the day before. I'd seen a display of Water for Elephants paperbacks underneath a sign pushily urging potential buyers to "read the book, see the movie." (You may recall that I ignored this edict, opting instead to buy I Love Ken: My Life as the Ultimate Boyfriend.) The clerk went on to say that the book had been so wonderful that she hadn't wanted it to end, and that for once the movie did an excellent job of capturing it. I nodded, promising to read it, then shuffled toward the ticket taker.

So, the movie. Water for Elephants is a frame story. I don't know about you, but I love a good frame story. There's something about hearing a story told as a flashback that makes it more symbolic and poignant. Water for Elephants is no different. It begins with an elderly man trying to get into a circus at night in the rain long after the last show has ended. At first he seems a little senile, a little lost. But then he begins to talk about his days with the Benzini Brothers Circus back in the 1930s, morphing into a twenty-something version of himself (played by Robert Pattinson) as the plot unravels.

All of a sudden, he's Jacob, the son of good-hearted Polish immigrants on the verge of getting his veterinary degree from Cornell. But just as he's about to take his final exam, he finds out that his parents have been killed in a car accident. Shaken and alone, Jacob sets off on foot with the vague notion of heading toward Albany to find work. Instead he hops aboard a train full of rough-hewn men who threaten to toss him onto the tracks. But just as it looks like the end, a white-haired gent takes pity on him (as always seems to be the case in such stories). He tells Jacob that he's joined a traveling circus and promises to get him a job (which turns out to be shoveling manure). But it isn't until Jacob catches sight of the beautiful Marlena (Reese Witherspoon), the circus owner's wife, that his fate is truly sealed. Although initially distant, Marlena thaws when Jacob tries to help her ailing horse, Silver. Their newfound friendship is only strengthened when Marlena's cruel husband, August (Christoph Waltz), refuses to have Silver put down as Jacob recommended, insisting that he can get a few more shows out of him. Unable to see any creature in pain, Jacob disobeys August. At first, August is hostile, even murderous. But he quickly brings Jacob back into the fold when the loss of the horse nets him his next star attraction, a curious elephant named Rosie. The incident marks the beginning of a complicated relationship between Jacob, Marlena, and August, the kind that will (forgive the cliché) leave all three changed forever.

In some ways, this story was what I expected and wanted. It made me cry, which is always the hallmark of a tale well told. Still, I couldn't help but feel that there was something missing, some intangible element that I suspected could be felt only when reading the book. Then again, if the good stuff was more powerful in print, then it followed that the bad stuff would be, too. And I wasn't sure that I wanted to delve more deeply into the gritty themes of violence and animal cruelty that were so central to the story. Like many people, I've always found the circus to be more macabre than cheerful. Water for Elephants draws upon this darkness to reveal the more unseemly, animalistic sides of human relationships. Undeniably unsettling, it delivers more than mere entertainment but demands more than your attention in return.

Movie Moment: How Do You Know

Today I dragged the bf to see How Do You Know. I figured anything starring Reese Witherspoon and Paul Rudd had to be good, right?

Not quite.

The heroine of How Do You Know is Lisa (Witherspoon), a world-class softball player who is unexpectedly cut from the U. S. woman's team, a disappointment so crushing that it throws her alternately into the arms of pro pitcher Matty (Owen Wilson), a self-absorbed good-timer with a bathroom full of toothbrushes and identical pink sweatsuits at the ready for female overnight guests, and George (Rudd), a self-deprecating good guy who runs his father's (Jack Nicholson's) corporation and is in danger of being indicted for some murky white collar crime or other that he presumably didn't commit.

I usually love Witherspoon. But I didn't find the indecisive, whiny career softball player Lisa to be sympathetic (to her credit, Lisa admits to the whiny part during a breakthrough discussion with George). She agrees to move in with Matty just weeks after they meet, only to become embroiled in a series of volatile arguments with him. Although her chemistry with George is more convincing, it sometimes seems like she's taking advantage of this overeager Baxter who just happens to be facing serious jail time. By comparison, Lisa's most pressing worry is that she "doesn't have what it takes for everyone else's normal plan" (ie, marriage and babies).

I think that most of these issues could have been masked, if not remedied, by a hefty dose of humor. But on the whole, the movie isn't funny, its few zingers having been spoiled by the trailers.

How Do You Know has its moments. The scene in which George's secretary's boyfriend proposes in the hospital room after she gives birth to their baby is particularly touching, especially because said boyfriend is presented as a commitmentphobic tool earlier in the film (happily, we learn that he's anything but). Lisa witnesses it all and is terribly moved. You can almost see the cartoon light bulb go on over her head to signal that she's thinking, hey, maybe marriage and babies aren't so bad after all.

Of course, George doesn't go to jail, which is fortunate, as Rudd is easily the best part of the movie, effortlessly delivering his signature dry wit (not that I'm a bit biased, what with him being my favorite actor.) And of course, he gets Lisa. Which is good. I'm just not so crazy about the way he gets her, or at least, about the way the movie ends. Lisa's just returned Matty's birthday gift of a diamond watch and ditched his party to meet George. And George says that just maybe she did it because she realized she loves him too.

This is the sort of behavior that gives romantic comedies a bad name. Lisa and George have only just decided to start dating, and already George is professing his love. It's not even clear why they're attracted to each other, aside from the vague common ground of their desperate situations. Everyone knows that the love part comes much later, and that sensible people don't utter a word about it until a) one person has at least a pair of emergency underwear at the other person's place, b) it no longer sounds creepy, and c) they're fairly certain the other person will say it back.

As the bf and I filed out of the theater, he turned to me and said, "That was two hours of my life that I'll never get back." I agreed that the movie had been kind of weak. It certainly rates a rent, though. Years from now, when it's being rerun on TBS, I'm sure I'll be knee-deep in felt or sequins or something, watching it as I craft.