Bad sign

One of my all time favorite movie quotes is spoken by Navin R. Johnson (Steve Martin), in The Jerk: 

I know we’ve only known each other for four weeks and three days, but to me it seems like nine weeks and five days.  The first day seemed like a week and the second day seemed like five days.  And the third day seemed like a week again and the fourth day seemed like eight days.  And the fifth day you went to see your mother and that seemed just like a day, and then you came back and later on the sixth day, in the evening, when we saw each other, that started seeming like two days, so in the evening it seemed like two days spilling over into the next day and that started seeming like four days, so at the end of the sixth day on into the seventh day, it seemed like a total of five days. And the sixth day seemed like a week and a half. I have it written down, but I can show it to you tomorrow if you want to see it…

I’ve been on dates like that – only I’d have to substitute minutes for days.  Seriously.  The date is over and I feel an overwhelming urge to grab the shoulders of the stranger walking along side me and scream, “What day is it?!!” because I’m certain I must have lost several. 

I don’t know about you, but something tells me this is a bad sign.  Sigh.

If we could but…

I was raised Pentecostal.  My father was a “Holy Roller,” my mom a Baptist, and I settled somewhere in the middle.  Catholic or no, I’ve always liked the idea of Lent.  Giving something up for God, who gave so much for us, seems a good way to say thanks.

But have you ever noticed?  It’s often all about us.  We surrender things we love, sure.  We give up our coffee, our sugar, our television.  We do so for God; but the end result is often to our benefit. 

This year, it’s different. 

This year the church I attend is joining countless others in “Seek God for the City 2009.”  Starting Wednesday, February 25 – for forty days leading to Palm Sunday – we have been praying the same promises, for the same people, on behalf of the same countries.  If I thought it a good idea when I picked up the book, I think it’s an amazing idea now.  There are countries I never knew existed; there are groups of people I may complain about, but never thought to pray for.  

Guess you might say I’m giving a bit of myself, to seek God’s blessing for others. 

And prayer seems a natural extension to the usual Lenten offering.  After all, Christ gave his very life to save the lives of others; it’s only fitting that we should give a few minutes that we might be a part of the same.

I’m a writer

Every Thursday morning, at 7:00 AM, a friend and I meet for coffee.  We’ve become something of regulars, meaning we often hobnob with other regulars. Yesterday, one such regular made a beeline for me.

“Before I leave, there’s just something I’ve got to get off my chest,” he said.

A bit alarming, but okay…

The week before, you see, he mentioned my friend could grace the cover of a magazine. He said nothing of the sort to me. Apparently, the comment haunted him all week; he simply had to make sure he had not crushed my spirit.

Here’s the thing, my friend is always, always, prepared to stand-in for a cover shoot, should the need arise. The week before she had a large red flower in her hair . . . to meet a friend for coffee . . . at 7:00 AM.  She did look as though she could grace the cover of a magazine. I, my friends, did not. Needless to say, the poor gentleman was all a-fret for naught. All the same, my friend decided to help.

Here’s how it went down . . .

Friend: Here’s what you need to know about Amy . . . Amy is a writer.

Me: {nodding solemnly} Yes, I’m practically expected to be frumpy.

Me & Gentleman: {chuckling amongst ourselves}

Friend: But if only you could read her words . . . her words are beautiful!

Me: My beauty, is my words.

Me & Gentleman: {chuckling amongst ourselves}

Friend: And here’s what you need to know about me: I was raised by two hair dressers; I’ve been in performance my whole life; I understand the importance of aesthetics.

Me & Gentleman: {awkward silence}

But oh the gift this conversation has given me, and every other writer, for that matter. Just think of the possibilities: caught in public without makeup; bad hair day; that weak moment wherein you think you’ll sneak out to get gas in your sweats, only to happen upon the man of your dreams.  No longer do we have to slink off in silence. Oh no, my friends. We can stand up tall, look ’em in the eye and say, I’m a writer . . . and all will be well.

A promise

My mom and I were chatting about horrible movies–specifically the embarrassment of having someone catch you emerging from the theatre of a horrible movie–when she mentioned her blood clot.  Apparently, when we were at the theatre watching Twilight she had this weird pain in her leg.  Being the medical professional that she is, a blood clot came to mind. 

Of course, it wasn’t the idea of having a blood clot or throwing said blood clot that terrified her.  It was the thought of dying in the theatre of Twilight.  People would know.  Not only the people in the theatre, but countless others would see as they carried her lifeless body from the theatre.  Good heavens!  She might even make the news!  And she would be dead!  She couldn’t explain that yes, she was old enough to know better–but she was being a good mother.  Her daughter (who, she might add, is also old enough to know better) insisted they give the movie a go!!! 

The mere thought was the more than she could bare.   

She made me promise, right then and there, if she ever dies, in public, while watching a questionable movie, that I refrain from sobbing, screaming, or otherwise-drawing-attention to myself until I have at least dragged her corpse into in the theatre of a decent movie. 

I promised.  As long as she promised not to do such a wretched thing.  I mean really–a bad movie is traumatizing enough!

Les Choristes (2004)

Rating: PG-13 (language, sexual reference, violence)

Genre: Drama

Language: French – English subtitles

The gist: Set in 1948, Les Choristes is the story of Clément Mathieu (Gérard Jugnot), a composer who has all but given up on his music. He accepts a Supervisory position at Fond de l’ Etang (“Bottom of the Well”) – a boarding school for orphans and problematic boys. Despite the fact that the school is administered by the cruel Rachin (François Berléand), problems abound. In an attempt to keep the boys from trouble, Monsieur Clément begins to teach them music. Along the way he discovers the musical ability of the rebel Pierre Morhange (Jean-Baptiste Maunier), the charm of Pierre’s single mother, Violette (Marie Bunel), and the unwavering hope of young Pépinot (Maxence Perrin) – the orphan boy who waits near the gate, every Saturday, for his father’s return. Though not as he might have envisioned, Clement’s brief stint at Fond de l’ Etang will change everyone’s life forever.

My take: Les Choristes is a charming look at a few of the forgotten ones, following WWII. Directed by Christophe Barratier, the story generates laughter one minute, tears the next. Subtle themes speak of the need to feel connected, the importance of a father figure. The boys do their own singing – and their voices are angelic. While all the actors perform well, Gérard Jugnot deserves extra kudos. His portrayal of the kind-hearted Clément Mathieu creates a character both easy to believe and easy to love. More than anything, however, the film is a simple tribute to the human spirit. For that alone I would recommend this film; the talents of the writers, director, actors and film crew are but added perks.

An aside: Don’t pass over a movie simply because it is not in your native language. Sure, reading subtitles may prove a bit awkward at first, but it will come naturally before you know it. Foreign films offer a glimpse into another culture – not to mention, they open a whole new world of great films.