Tuesday, November 07, 2006

Archetype Visitation

Recently re-viewed: "Breakfast at Tiffany's", free screening at local coffee shop, after yoga class.

Previous viewing: At age 13 or thereabouts.

Disturbing Thoughts: At thirteen, Pretty Lady longed to be glamorous Audrey Hepburn in "Breakfast at Tiffany's," like every normal thirteen-year-old girl. With the happy ending, of course. The ending seemed quite credible, at thirteen.

Now, Pretty Lady realizes that she is Audrey Hepburn in "Breakfast at Tiffany's," except that the only part of the movie which seems ludicrously unrealistic is the ending. The gay parties, the rats and super-rats, the penurious next-door neighbors, the perfidious millionaire swains--these are all so normal as to be quite passé.

The romantic declaration of permanent devotion to an obviously irremediably damaged girl in the rain, however--piffle!

This movie is not a Comedy, darlings. It is dank, dangerous, treacherous Tragedy. Keep your impressionable thirteen-year-old daughters away from it at all costs.

4 comments:

Anonymous said...

you should read the book. it's even darker.

mitzibel said...

My mom never let me see that movie; she had an irrational fear that I would grow up to be a prostitute/kept woman/stripper, so of course I did my stint taking off my clothes for money and sleeping with men whom I didn't like but whose apartments were *fabulous*.

In other news, thanks for your concern and good thoughts. Mom and Dad are doing very well, and I'm back home recovering from Hopsital Burnout.

prettylady said...

Well, isn't that a mercy. I shall relax, now. It is a terrible thing when you cannot call someone to ask how they are doing, for fear.

At thirteen, I did not actually realize that Audrey Hepburn was playing a call girl; I thought she was merely glamorous and popular and eccentric. So I followed suit. Unfortunately, gentlemen don't generally pay you for being glamorous and popular and eccentric.

mitzibel said...

Heh. My mom wouldn't have, either, had her sister not filled her in.

Instead, she encouraged me to repeatedly view "The Excorcist" at 9, believing it to be an educational film on the dangers of dabbling with dark forces (she is *incredibly* superstitious). I still played Ouija board with the girls at slumber parties, but I did spend many sleepless nights wondering exactly *what* that young lady was doing with the crucifix. . .