Monday, August 31, 2009

Moonstruck breakfast

Vince and I watched Moonstruck together.

I've seen it many times. He's seen it more than once. I didn't think I could enjoy it again, but I did. I loved it. It is embarrassing, sometimes, to say that this may be my favourite film, because it is schmaltz. But it is is well written, well edited, well photographed, well acted schmaltz and it hits every pleasure nerve I have. The sugar cubes dropped casually, deliberately and precisely into the glasses of bubbly; the egg in the pan when Cher has a love bite on her neck; the dogs eating Rose's dinner; the old woman putting a curse on the plane; young Nick Cage tossing Bread Bread Bread into the oven. Cher's high heels. Brooklyn Heights. Johnny Cammareri.

It is perfection. Nevermind the continuity that cannot get Olympia Dukakis' hair to look the same two times in one scene.

So the next morning we made the eggs in holes in bread. Italian American bread. Soft white stuff. And I cooked bacon. It was fabulous.
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