It’s amazing how quickly movies go to DVD these days. Last week we picked up Rocky Balboa and Marie Antoinette at the library. Funny, it was Mr. Pinault who wanted to see the Philadelphian savage and me who wanted to see the French hedonist. Even funnier is that Rocky Balboa’s love interest is named Marie, and Marie Antoinette’s husband is named Louis… which is French for “Rocky”, I believe.
Rocky Balboa wasn’t half as bad as I expected… but I was expecting the crappiest movie ever. It was more sad than bad. It gave me fleeting joyful nostalgia, like when I find an old acquaintance on MySpace who I haven’t thought about in a decade, and I scruntize their pics to guage how well they are aging and browse their profile to glean a sense of how normal and nice their life has turned out. And I laugh at them and promptly forget them ten minutes later.
Marie Antoinette was so excellent, especially since we went to Versailles last summer and saw her mock village “Petit Hameau” and other excesses. I loved how Marie Antoinette was portrayed as the leader of a cool kid’s clique. I loved the ’80s music soundtrack, the opulent clothes and food, and the ridiculous social structure of Versailles. And I loved how the movie evoked unexpected pity for the oblivious Queen, who was so sheltered and pampered that she really could have no concept of how disgusting her life was.
