Watched a movie last night. And the night before really. Couldn’t do it in one go. Because…

Before Xmas the movie ‘The Lost Daughter’ came out to universal, hyperbolic, ecstatic reviews. Olivia Coleman, Oscar tipped. Dakota Johnson… well, gorgeous, what else? Directed by Maggie Gyllenhaal, who wrote the screenplay. Monumental. Outstanding. Earth-shattering. Life-changing. Meteor-avoiding. Pandemic-resistant! Ed Harris was in it. Holy moly, I didn’t know he was still alive either. But he is. And he’s good.

I totally adore Maggie Gyllenhaal. Always have. Ever since The Secretary. I love her brother Jake. And I love the fact that women directors are allowed to find meaningful work in the last industry that avoids any kind of significant diversity. And I seriously ‘do chick flick’. I like Terminator and Saving Private Ryan and anything Tarantino but I also have a more genteel appreciation side. I like rom-coms, I like kid films, I like Bridesmaids, FFS.

La Coleman is brilliant, obviously. She is as stellar as usual and performing like… like Christiano Ronaldo in the snooker team. Like Anthony Joshua in ballet.

Because the movie is dark. Literally dark, with only a few scenes in daylight, the rest, for some reason, dark. Which, for a Greek island setting in summertime, takes effort. Yet I could almost forgive the darkness if it wasn’t so opaque.

But excited we were as we got our popcorn and sat back for a Netflix ‘spectacular’. Because unlike the cinema, we have a much more lax ‘mask rule’ at home. And you can’t shove popcorn through a mask. And we watched…

For half an hour. On the first night. Nothing happened. Nothing that anyone would understand as ‘happening’. So we gave up. Must be our mood, the lighting, too much popcorn. But we didn’t give up. Oh no, not on this baby, not with all those 5-star reviews. So last night we (braced ourselves and) went for the remaining hour-and-a-half. When, it must be said, many things did indeed happen. But you (the viewer) were not privy to their meaning or context. That would be cheating. I initially presumed that this flick was so chick that I simply lacked the oestrogen to appreciate it. No ovaries; no movie, kind’a thing. But Mel was in the dark too. Even with all that femininity bouncing around… femininely.

In short, it was 2 hours of my life I’ll never get back again. Though the popcorn was really good. Whether all those reviewers understood what a sad man missed, or whether it was ‘emporer’s new clothes’ syndrome, I’m not prepared to say. But even Mel was prepared to watch Match of the Day 2 after that.

Happy Tuesday

A xxxx