Friday, February 25, 2011

45. The Oscars

C.W. was giddy. He showed up at my door as Frank Capra and I knew he was excited about the Oscars.

“Turn on the movie channel,” he barked as he barged in.

“You forget one thing,” I said.

“What’s that?”

“Think,” I suggested.

“Uh, no TV?”

“Not here. You’ll have to wait for the weekend when we go to the farm. We have satellite there.”

“No problem,” he said. “I just have some questions about veracity in the films your species makes. I love them but stuff bothers me.”

“Like when automatic pistols keep clicking after the last bullet is spent?”

“Well, that’s small stuff.”

“So what are you talking about?”

“I’ve watched over a hundred great films over the last couple of weeks, you know.”

“Well you should be an expert.”

“Oh, I am. But I just don’t understand some of them.”

“Why don’t you tell me?”

“Okay, there’s this one, see: ‘Saving Private Ryan.’”

“Yes, I’ve seen it.”

“So this squad makes it through the landing at Normandy and they are all sent to rescue one Private.”

“I think that was the plot.”

“Well when they find him, he refuses an order to come along from a Captain of the Army Rangers and ends up getting just about the whole squad killed.”

“Well, yeah.”

“But he’s a hero at the end.”

“Uh, I guess one could be confused.”

“Then there is this ‘On the Waterfront.’”

“Yes, a truly great one.”

“Well, the hero was supposed to be good enough at fighting to be a boxing champ, right?”


“So why does he have such a hard time when he fights an old fat man who hasn’t done anything but smoke cigars for the last 20 years?”

“Uh, good question.”

“And have you ever met anyone who could follow the plot of ‘The Big Sleep?’”

“Not without copious notes.”

“And wasn’t the Sheriff in ‘High Noon’ a little old to be doing all that fighting and whatever else he intended to do with his young wife when they got to the next town?”

“Well, maybe.”

“I mean, that was way before you had Viagra, wasn’t it?”

“Way before. But if they puzzle you so much, why do you watch them?”

“Well,” he paused. “I guess for the same reason you keep watching the female of your species even though they puzzle you.”

Before I could respond, he blurted out, “But none of those is the weirdest, for me anyway.”

“Oh,” I said. “So what is?”

“Ever see a movie called ‘From Here to Eternity?’”

“Oh yes, dozens of times.”

“Well, I had to go enphase myself directly into a scene to try this one out.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Having sex on the beach.”

I was speechless.

“I mean,” he continued. “Have you ever had sand on your …”
Were the hands the only thing that pointed up for this old feller? - C.W.

“That’s quite enough,” I said. “Someone may be listening.”

“Well, let’s just agree then,” he said. “That such an experience would be far greater in the abstract than in the reality.”

“C.W.,” I said. “You are a born movie critic.”

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