Monday, August 10, 2009

Let's Go To The Movies!: Julie and Julia


Self- described “foodies” are perhaps the most loathsome group of individuals, save imperious bloggers (I should know, I have to live with myself everyday). These precious bourgeoisie fetishize eating parts of animals that my parents transcended poverty to ensure we would never have to consume, like cow balls and bone marrow, for example. And at long last, thanks to Nora “I feel bad about my FUPA” Ephron, both constituencies- fancy food- philes and web writers in house dresses (I'm partial to the muumuu)- have found their place on the silver screen. Julie and Julia is a tale of butter and lesbian haircuts, of looking into the deep dark mirror of midlife discontent seeing it reflected in polysaturated fats.

Like my last dispatch from the cinema, the most exciting part of this outing was the events that transpired at theater. I saw this film with my mother on a typically gray Sunday afternoon in southern New England. Our showing must have coincided with a Red Hat Ladies’ trip, because the audience was dying, I mean completely freaking out, every time Amy Adams raised her voice to an exaggerated shrill (which was often) and each time Meryl Streep shrieked “Bonjour!” They were howling! Some people were even stamping their feet when our hero Julia Child flips that stupid egg. I thought we were going to have to call security. These people were LOSING THEIR SHIT. This may have been a kind of guerrilla marketing technique from Columbia Pictures to supplant positive messages in the minds of non- middle aged/ brie obsessed audience members, I’m not sure. If this had been a midnight screening of any Tyler Perry movie with the audience exhibiting the exact same behavior, they would have left in a paddy wagon. If I were evaluating this film on an applause- o- meter, rather than my own arbitrary scale based on my personal distaste for older Caucasians, it would receive four stars. But you’re in Zenaida country now, foodies.

Ok, so in the interest of full disclosure I admit that this movie gave me major blog envy. It’s set in 2002, when blogs still carry some element of hip and instead of pathos like this one. Julie Powell (Amy Adams) decides to write a wicked boring foodie blog blah blah, but she has, like, readers! What are those?!

Secondly, why the heck does she get to have this hotmaster husband who allows her to fuss about with her duck and lobsters and glycerides AND sport a lesbian haircut, and he still sticks around, and is even doting?! I can’t even find a guy to ignore me. You do not get to marry Claire’s sexy lawyer bf on Six Feet Under Season 5 and publish your blog into a book all while styling your hair into something that makes you look like Lindsey Graham in lip gloss. NO!My suspension of disbelief does not extend that far.

For those of you who enjoy tall tales and sweetbreads (SO not what it sounds like!), enjoy. Meryl Streep is hilarious, a true professional, and if you find yourself in a Sperry wearing audience in Providence, Rhode Island you will be in for a riotous good time. I am and will continue to be partially submerged in an Entenmann’s coffee cake until the premier of 2012. This is a film about apocalypse, which is a theme close to my heart, closer than beef bourguignon, unless anyone would like to feed it to me, in which case I would be very pleased and grateful.

4 comments:

Anonymous said...

Cow balls?

Paloma Zenaida said...

Yes.

Paloma Zenaida said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Anonymous said...

What's next? Goat wings? Car feathers?