Woe, oh Woe am I. Not.
About six months ago, I finally gave in and joined the Canadian version of Netflix. I'd resisted because I tend to watch movies based on what I'm in the mood for and that's not something you can do when you never know what's arriving next in your mailbox. However, my local video store now has the poorest excuse for a library of old releases I've ever seen and since I love old movies and weird movies, I really had no other choice. And it turns out I may like surprises after all
Brief pause to allow a number of my family and friends time to hoot hysterically at the thought of me liking surprises. Done? Right then, moving on.
On my list that Rogers Video Direct is a bunch of movies I never got around to seeing for various reasons and last week, The Lake House arrived in my mailbox. And it was better than I'd expected, sweetly mindless, as long as you ignore the gaping holes in the plot. Keanu Reeves wasn’t too bad, although he really made me aware of how excellent an actor Sandra Bullock is and the titular house was breathtaking.
However, you may have noticed that one of the labels for this post is Rant so this is less about my conversion to surprises and a movie review than being damn opinionated. The movie version of my book and music rants, if you will.
The description of the movie starts with "an independent-minded doctor” – and I bet you can see what's coming - which based on first part of movie, is obviously code for single and sad because at the ripe old age of what appears to be a smidge past 30 she hasn't acquired herself a boyfriend/husband. This is when I started foaming at the mouth and it didn't get better in the movie which explores the idea of waiting for Mr. Right, the proverbial One by miscellaneous discussions of waiting. For instance, when watching Notorious, our Sad & Lonely heroine opines “if she’s not careful, she could spend her whole life waiting” and later in some other context that I’ve repressed, she muses "what if you live your whole life and no one's waiting" and can someone please pass me the barf bag…
Here is an intelligent woman with a rewarding career who still manages to spend much of her days moping around talking to the dog (which oddly never seems to need to be taken out for a pee) and only comes alive – Ms. Sad & Lonely, that is, not the dog - when she and Keanu fall in love writing letters to each other while separated in time (don't ask, you have to sort of go with it). And this relentless assumption that if you don't have a man, your life is shite drives me crazy. Are we still not past that? Are we still in the place where only a man can complete you no matter how fascinating, challenging and worthwhile the rest of our lives are?
I've been single for much of my life and y’know? There is absolutely nothing wrong with not being attached. Being single does not automatically make you sad, woeful and unfulfilled. Being single doesn't necessarily mean you're waiting for The One, pining about fretfully, wafting wraithlike in the wind, having no life and no food in the fridge.
Finding someone to love can add something very special to your life, but if it is the only thing that makes your life worthwhile, I'd recommend therapy. And sure, finding someone – ‘scuse me, Someone – can feel Fated, like finding a Soul Mate, like your own personal Fairytale, like this is the person you’d been waiting for without knowing you’d been waiting. They're all lovely feelings and I'm all for having them, but IT DOESN’T BLOODY
My apologies. I believe that was my outside voice.