--From Annie

(I'm actually writing this really late Tuesday night. It's technically Wednesday, but not under my usual rules. But I figure it can't hurt to get ahead of the game for once. If you haven't yet read Tuesday's entry, go there first.)

So I went to see it after all. I'd eaten, and I sort of knew that if I didn't get to it then, it would almost certainly join the long list of Films I Really Wanted To See, But Never Got To While They Were Still Playing.

Shakespeare in Love is, indeed, a good film, although it's not at all what I'd expected. I had somehow gotten the idea that it was meant to be a romantic comedy, probably due to the fact that I'd heard or read the majority of the punchlines and inside jokes in the film over the past few weeks. But it's not. Romantic tragedy hits closer to the mark.

Sure, I knew the plot was supposed to parallel that of Romeo and Juliet, but I somehow didn't consider the implications of that.

Still, good film. If nothing else, it's such a pleasure to hear Elizabethean English spoken naturally. For that matter, I found myself wishing I were involved in theatre, as I can see that I would have appreciated it much more if I were. This film really celebrates the magic that can come of a good performance. And while I've written and produced a few school plays, they were on such a small scale that they hardly bear mention in this context.

In general, I love the period before movies start. I love reading in a darkened theatre, in a comfortable plush seat with an armrest, with some soft music playing in the background, and air conditioning in the summer, and heating in the winter... I have often maintained that I'd be willing to shell out seven bucks just to get two hours of reading time in such conditions. It would be well worth it. As it stands, I sometimes find it to be my favorite part of the movie-going experience.

Not in this place. The first thing I noticed was that the music was too loud. Okay, I thought, I can get past that. It's not the end of the world. Then the song ended, and an announcer gave the name of the song that had just played.

That was when I realized that this wasn't the usual music piped in from a radio station; the radio stations around here never identify the songs. This was original programming for the theatre. Joy.

Sure enough, the voice went on to identify the movie soundtrack the song had come from, and the record label it was on, and where it could be purchased. Loudly and clearly, destroying any chance I'd had for concentrating on my reading. All the while, the screen was showing bits of insipid movie trivia, with the Coca-Cola logo plastered all over it.

Then came the previews, of which there were many, and then the film started.

I shall have to avoid this theatre in the future.

"Say, Shmuel, you know what the problem is? Your mind works so quickly that your mouth just can't keep up with it!"

50% of the time, this is followed by, "You're lucky; most people with that problem stutter instead."

I know that these comments are well-meaning, and I invariably just nod and smile, but the fact is that I've heard this so many times that I want to kill the next person who suggests this. Wonderful, I'm a genius. Does that help me any? Am I to give myself a lobotomy to solve the problem?

(One of my readers is no doubt bonking herself on the head right now. It's okay, you didn't know...)

And yes, I know they don't mean anything of the sort, and, yes, I'm being unnecessarily snide, and, no, I don't really let on to how I feel about this in general. But what's a journal for if I can't vent just a bit every now and again? :-)

Oh, and I do stutter a bit at times, actually. But that's the least of my worries.