Tinker, Tailor, Iron Lady
What’s with the movies lately? I mean, the last two I saw left me dazed and confused. It started when me and the girls, Celeste, Rita, Betty, Dot and Shirley, go down to Bangor a couple weeks ago to catch “Iron Lady.” We all love Meryl Streep (I mean, who doesn’t?), and were all jacked to see her nail another one.
Now, I couldn’t get the movie popcorn with the extra buttered-flavored toppin’ like I usually do ‘cause, as you know, I’m on the WW (Weight Watchers). But I did bring along some air-popped with a little butter and a small box of Junior Mints, which is a low fat candy. Had to sneak those into the theater, but luckily my purse is so big it could double as an overnight bag. (Not really, of course, but that’s what my husband Charlie likes to say. There are some things that men will never understand.)
So, “Iron Lady.” Well, Meryl doesn’t disappoint. She’s just amazing as Margaret Thatcher. Hardly recognizable, especially as the really old Margaret. But the movie? Well, I’ll give you the gist. (Don’t need a spoiler alert here, ‘cause you could look Margaret Thatcher up on Wikipedia and learn more about her than you do in this movie.) Seems the poor gal has early stage dementia or Alzheimer’s or something, so she can only pull it together every now and then. She’s trying to pack up her dead husband’s stuff to give away, and keeps flashing back on her life. That’s basically it. Not exactly a laugh riot, if you know what I mean.
Problem with the movie is that it never really works up a head of steam. It’s not like it starts with old Margaret, then flashes back to her life and ends with old Margaret. No, that would be too easy. The flashbacks are short, and always return to old Margaret starin’ blankly out the window or wandering ‘round her big house. It just goes back and forth like that, back and forth, and you’re thinking, Maybe I should have read up on her before I came to the movie (never a good sign). And Margaret’s house is all kind of blue-grey, (and yes, I get it, like iron), but it’s a downer. The whole movie’s kind of a slog.
Us girls left the theater mildly depressed and a little annoyed, ‘cause we love Meryl, and feel bad she’s in such a mediocre movie. And ‘cause if we wanted to spend time with someone who’s grieving or has dementia, we could visit any number of people in Mahoosuc Mills. Happily, though, the afternoon was saved when Dottie and me scored some great sneakers for Zumba class at the Nike outlet.
Then this weekend, Charlie and me went to “Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy.” We chose that one ‘cause it’s a spy movie, and Charlie’s partial to that kind of thing. Plus, there’s usually a hunk to two in the flick to keep me interested.
Well, I’d like to be able to sum this one up for you, but I wouldn’t know where to start. First off, the opening credits go on forever. I’m thinking, They’re just setting the tone. There’ll be an explosion or somethin’ and it’ll rev up. But no. Molasses runs downhill in winter faster than this thing. All the characters are movin’ slow, and starin’ suspiciously at one another. Long close-ups of people not sayin’ anything. What up with that? The entire movie looks like it was shot through a coke bottle, all green and dark and shadowy. Yup, I get it: they’re spies, and they’re all dark and shadowy. But me, I’d like to see what’s going when I watch a movie. And please tell me why that guy was swimming with his glasses on? I mean, why do we need to see him swimming at all? Nothing happens in those scenes. No sharks, piranhas, nothing!
Yet, for some reason, Charlie and me sat through the whole, boring thing. Why is that? I mean, we talked about it later. We both thought about leaving. I guess we’re just optimistic by nature, thinking it’s going to get better. Plus, we’ve invested time and money in it, and don’t want to admit we made a bad decision. And, Charlie and me are just too darn polite, thinkin’ well, I’m not havin’ any fun, but maybe he is, and I don’t want to ruin his good time. So I’ll just stick it out, plan my supper menu for the next week. When all we had to do was look at each other, nod our heads and hightail it outta there. What a couple of numbies!
Finally the lights come up, and Charlie looks at me, and says, “You know what? I’ve had dreams that have made more sense than that.” Guy in front of us starts chuckling, turns ‘round and goes, “Me, too!”
That’s it for now. Catch you on the flip side!
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