Thank heavens, Christmas is now Christmas Past, and New Year’s Eve will come and go as it usually does, both of us asleep about 10:00, maybe watching the ball drop in New York, maybe not. Come on, 2011! You gotta be better than this one we’re just concluding.
I decided, since the Cardinals had already won their game with the hated Cowboys, to go see a movie instead of watching football. True Grit looks good, but that’s one Rosalie would want to see. So I made the grievous error of choosing The Black Swan. Whew! Not my cup of tea, not my glass of Scotch, not even my DQ chocolate shake. Natalie Portman is being hyped as an Oscar contender for her role as the schizo swan girl, and I guess she did a really good job. I just hated the job she had to do—play a wannabe ballerina who wins the lead in a production of Swan Lake. But she keeps seeing herself in mirrors or other people. The movie was intended as a balletic psychological thriller, but all I came away with was a feeling of creepiness, ickiness, yuckiness. When I was leaving, a woman looked at me and shrugged, her mouth sort of sideways, her eyes wide. I shrugged and said, “I agree.” I guess she too thought it was sort of creepy. I felt that I’d just lost two hours of my life. Ah, well, tomorrow is another day and True Grit will save it.