The worst movie my wife and I have ever seen

Amazingly, it’s now forty-nine and half years since I met my wife.   We like to go to the movies, and we’ve seen a lot of them.   “Beasts of the Southern Wild” is the worst one we’ve ever seen.  The New York Times loved it.  Sundance loved it.  So we went.  It’s easy to see why they all loved it — calving glaciers, sea level rise, a spunky black girl, blacks and white trash loving each other.  In short, the compleat liberal fantasy.   The picture would never have been made or received the reviews it did if everyone in it were white.

It was incredibly dull, drawn out and pretentious.  After what seemed like an eternity, I asked my wife if it was 190 minutes long instead of the 90 minutes we saw in the paper (it wasn’t).   Don’t go.  That’s not to say great movies can’t be made about poor people living on the economic edge (although economics really played a small role in the picture).  Winter’s Bone (also beloved by Sundance) was terrific.

Given that Beasts of the Southern Wild was about a plucky female being buffeted by adversity, there were plenty of single ladies in the audience (over half of whom were truly Brobdinagian).

The movie was held in what is basically an art-house multiplex.  The males present in the lobby were an interesting lot.  Over half were wearing short pants (almost all the women were in slacks).  They sort of cringed about, never standing straight, apparently attempting to appear sensitive.

I’d noted this sort of thing a few years earlier, while visiting something called the Torpedo Factory in Alexandria, Virginia.  It actually was a torpedo factory in WWII, but now it’s filled with artist studios.   The men were the same — wearing short pants, never looking anyone in the eye, cringing about.  The women were much different — standing tall, looking everyone in the eye. walking briskly.  I looked back, and got into several staring contests with them, which always I won by just smiling.

So how common is this sort of thing?  The next night my wife and I went to a three-county fair. Almost no male was wearing short pants.  Some of the women were, particularly prepubertal preteens.  For people in academia I recommend this as therapeutic, and a return to the reality of the 99% (as opposed to the movies).

This AM found me in the local supermarket 2 miles from home which is pretty much working class and welfare.  None of the men were wearing short pants.

So it’s a phenomenon largely confined to upper middle class male castrati of the artistic variety.

For further on the subject, see today’s New York Times Sunday Magazine.  I swear they have spies in our house.

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