Wednesday, December 17, 2008
I tried to spare you. I tried to stay away with all my power of self-control. Hah, who is fooling whom? Or is it 'whom is fooling who?' I know how to solve this: To whom am I fooling?
It's the season, you see. And the wet weather. And the lights. And the camera. And the action. I'm talking movies. Not of the the soiled type, oh no. If only. My shame runs much deeper than that. I mean the sweet, stick to the roof of your mouth, treacly Christmas movies -- The Turner Classic, dead Hollywood stars, Robert Osbourne with a cup of spiked eggnog Yuletide offerings.
Let a December go by without Cary Grant as Dudley? (And please, we all would have dropped that skinny old bishop in a heartbeat, would we not? Even if God were watching.) And Scrooge, I must have my dose of Alastair Sim, "You may be a bit of undigested beef..."
It gets worse.
The Man Who Came to Dinner. Christmas in Connecticut. Miracle on some street or another. A Christmas Story.
At least I don't do musicals, but that's like the coke addict saying "At least I never freebased."
Like any hopeless addict, I practice this sad habit in darkened rooms, in flannel pj's, with phone turned off. Helpless, I can't stay away, year after year.
It's hard to trace the genesis of an addiction. Most would point to childhood influences, but my parents wouldn't watch a Christmas movie at gunpoint. Perhaps it was while babysitting, where so many bad habits are born -- oreo binges, nipping brandy, stealing make-up, reading personal correspondence. . . but I digress.
Ok, just come clean, they say. Hello, my name is Karin and I've watched A Wonderful Life fifteen times.
Who else is this brave?
Labels: Weekend Matinee