My theater visits seem to come in bursts. The last time I went to see a movie at a theater (in early June), I saw THREE in one weekend. That's a heckuva lot of Cherry Coke and artery-hardening popcorn, folks. The movie bug hit again this weekend, but it was only two this time.
Yes, my arteries are thankful indeed.
My heart, however, is not.
For the first time in I can't remember when, I deliberately did not read a single review before handing over my $7 for a movie ticket. You can rest assured that will not be happening again.
Since the first preview for Becoming Jane, I had been waiting most impatiently for its opening. Oh the disappointment when I learned that yes, August 3 was the release date, but it was a limited release and not one that included Northwest Arkansas.
Circumstances prevented me from seeing it the following weekend on its full release, and by the time this past Thursday arrived, I could not wait another moment to take in what I assumed to be the spectacular love story of a brilliant writer.
And it was. Sort of.
Anne Hathaway was delightful as Jane, and I couldn't help but wonder as I watched the story unfold, "If Jane had written a story about her life, would it have looked anything lke this?" It reminded me very much of the screen adaptation of Emma, Sense & Sensibility and Pride & Prejudice.
I found the tender relationship between Jane and her sister Cassandra very touching and sweet, but when the final credits rolled, it wasn't tender sweetness I was basking in but profound sadness over the author's unfulfilled longings for love and marriage.
Stories of sadness and despair fill newspapers and the airwaves daily. When I go to see a movie, I expect to be uplifted, and frankly Jane just sucked the air right out of me. Judging by the tears flowing down her cheeks as we left the theater, I'm fairly sure that my companion that evening shared my sentiments.
The following evening, Hubs and I enjoyed a rare date and took in Bourne Ultimatum. It did NOT disappoint, and I left some serious indentions in a sixth-row seat to prove it. There weren't too many moments through the nearly two-hour action fest in which I wasn't holding my breath, digging my fingers into something or both. I needed a masseuse after it was over, my muscles were so knotted.
And that's all I'll say about that. It's one you need to see, but be prepared for a bit of unwholesome language the writers, unfortunately, chose to use.
All in all, it's already been a good weekend and we've still got Sunday and Monday left to enjoy!