Fine Whines

I just watched one of those old Andy Hardy (Mickey Rooney) movies on Turner Classic Movies. Andy goofs and winds up with two dates for the Christmas dance. He needs his trusty friend and neighbor, Betsy Booth (Judy Garland), to extricate him from this predicament so that all will be fixed in time for the big evening. Everyone survives happily and a good laugh is had by all.

If you take this same movie and have it produced and directed by the most clinically depressed people in Hollywood, you wind up with the current film "Revolutionary Road," which just may be the dreariest movie ever to come out of Tinseltown since "Schindler's List." As a matter of fact, "Revolutionary Road" is so misguided it comes off like Paul Lynde starring in "Schindler's List."

"Jews! I don't know what's wrong with these Jews today."

But, I digress...

I was unfortunately persuaded to see "Revolutionary Road" after some positive word-of-mouth from friends who no longer are. Now, I worry about their mindsets and wonder how Zoloft can be Fedex-ed to their homes immediately. Most of the people in the audience when I saw it were squirming like flounder caught on a hook. Several waved disgustedly at the screen and walked out. One was so distraught she went out the fire exit and activated a siren, which conveniently woke the rest of us from our comas.

"Revolutionary Road" is one of those movies that contends all suburban life in the 50s was truly satanic. While the kids were in the living room watching Howdy Dowdy, Mom was doing the milkman in the kitchen. Dad was, of course, in the garage letting the neighbor's daughter touch him. I remember watching cartoons when I was a kid and I didn't see a milkman, a neighbor's daughter, or even my parents anywhere within a two mile radius. Of course, I can recall fights and slammed doors and the infrequent glass hurled against a kitchen wall. But, didn't we all? So, filmmakers, what's your ultimate point?

As you probably know, the "Titanic" duo of Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet are the battlers in this mess, and they were much better off floating around the North Atlantic on a piece of ice. They argue from the very first scene and, by the time the first half-hour is over, you want to move from their neighborhood pronto. It's all the same standard suburban melodrama you get from lots of other shitty movies. I'm so unfulfilled. Wah, wah, wah. You don't love me anymore. Wah, wah, wah. You never touch me. Wah, wah, wah. Why the big emphasis on asparagus every single meal? Wah, wah, wah. There's some nonsense about moving to a better life in Paris, but how improved can that be when you're subjected to Jerry Lewis movies on a regular basis?

By the time the film winds up, Kate has gone to the hardware store and bought some plumbing tools that allow her to have a do-it-yourself abortion. Funny, but I've never seen that particular episode on HGTV. She bleeds slowly to death, and not fast enough in my book. You don't care about anything or anybody in this film and my mind started to drift back to Andy Hardy and whether his evening with Polly Benedict turned out okay.

Indeed, all I wanted to do afterwards was go home and watch some Bugs Bunny cartoons.

Just like the old days.

Dinner last night: Chopped steak and salad.