The assignments are handed in. The children are packed away at daycare. A couple of weeks of long bright cold days stretch before me. So, as usual whenever I have a period of empty time (and whenever I don’t) I trot off to the public library for a stash of books and TV series. Only this time, because it’s Christmas, I do what I haven’t done since the golden boy was born three years ago: I get out some Hollywood movies as well.
But, it seems that once you have lost the habit of watching hollywood, you can’t get it back so easily. I start with Stepford Wives, because I recognize the actress on the cover- she was around in the pre-golden boy days, and I read a piece about her in the Guardian recently.
I don’t get the film. I haven’t watched any reality TV shows. I can’t get why it is supposed to be funny. And worst of all, I don’t understand why Nicole Kidman is supposed to be beautiful and wonderful. She overacts hysterically, her forehead is huge and overshadows her face, there is more than a spark of madness in her round marble blue eyes and, as we say scornfully in farsi, a slipper could easily fit in her large mouth. She is more upset at losing her job than causing the death of six people through her reality show, and the film doesn’t show she feels any guilt over it. Also, I rather like the dresses the Stepford wives are wearing. I got up less than halfway through the film.
I will go back to the beautiful gentle faces of unknown BBC actors and actresses playing out my favourite novels and mystery books. No Hollywood glitz for me.