Last night I confirmed that there is no safe amount of chocolate or alcohol I can consume anymore. One glass of wine and two slim slices of naturally-sweetened chocolate-pecan pie meant I was riding out my nausea and cold sweats during movie night with my spouse.
He and I rarely get to watch movies together, so I wasn’t going to let a little uncontrollable shivering keep me from watching Midnight in Paris while snuggled under blankets on the couch. Turns out laughter was some good medicine in this case. Well, laughter and the slow but inevitable action of my liver clearing the acetaldehyde from my bloodstream.
I’ve started reading Ulysses, and I’m surprised to find after all of the warnings that I actually enjoy reading it. But seeing this movie with all of these modernist writers and artists hanging out together in Paris really amped up my enthusiasm for the book. James Joyce didn’t make an appearance, but he got a mention, and that was enough to get me really in the mood to embrace modernist literature, at least for a while.
I remember hearing an interview with director Jean-Pierre Jeunet, who said that when he made Amélie, he set out to show the audience the Paris that he loves, all vibrant colors and magic, rather than the starkly real Paris, which has much more traffic and dog crap. So while the Paris setting of the film was gorgeous, I was able to keep reality in mind for most of the film and not hit pause to look up airline fares.
I’m also not very susceptible to the “it would be so much nicer to live in such-and-such a time…” I’ve read enough history to know that pretty much every era sucked for pretty much everyone living during that era. Right now’s not great, but there’s no other time I’d much rather live in.
Midnight in Paris, however, had me craving at least a long-ish vacation to 1920’s Paris. Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Gertrude Stein, Pablo Picasso, Salvador Dali, T.S. Eliot…what an incredible time it must have been to be in Paris!
The only trouble would be explaining why I wasn’t drinking. That particular crowd doesn’t seem like they’d take very well to someone who wasn’t a fabulous drinker.