Watched a soppy movie tonight on the telly, and my heart felt so tight I thought I would cry. I actually didn't, though. You'd barf, if I said that the heroine of the movie I almost cried over was J.Lo, but I'm still going to do it. I actually like her acting skills, believe it or faint. And starring alongside her was Richard Gere and Susan Sarandon, two major stalwarts. The movie in question was Shall We Dance?, about how bored older man (Gere) takes to dancing on the sly, as he's attracted to the hot teacher (J.Lo), and how his wife (Sarandon) gets to know in the end.
But the movie's finale was brilliantly heart-rending, with Gere not straying from his wife: in the end, when she tells him to go dance with J.Lo at her farewell party, he comes up to her workplace, in a tux, shiny black dance shoes, with a single-stemmed rose in his hand, and says, "But my partner is here..."
*sniff sniff*
That's me - or rather, my soppy Charlotte avatar from Sex and The City, who sometimes comes into her own to displace the usually reigning Samantha and Carrie personalities. At these times, I'm left with a simpering smile on my face, and the touch of the moronic in my "Awwww, choooo chweeeetttt!!!" dialogues. I refuse to feel ashamed of this, though.
Other great ways the movie ended:
1. There's this bald guy who works with Gere in his law firm, and who hides his twinkle toes from everyone else, and gets on the dance circuit with a Latino wig to cover his baldness: but in the finale, he tosses his wig away, and dances like a sexy devil, pushing the crowd to a frenzy. No use pretending to be who you're not!
2. A surprise gay element: this other macho guy, who joins the dance classes so that he can attract all the gals, eventually falls for his date's brother, who fixes her costumes and all. It's actually pretty adorable, watching the two of them in the end, dance in a gay bar. ;-)
***
Currently reading this book called The Buddha of Suburbia, by Hanif Kureishi. It's an excellent book, so if you happen to find it, do pick it up. The central character is this 17-year old British Asian named Karim. It's placed in the 1970s, like Hollinghurst's The Line of Beauty - another must-read! - but is so much pacier and more personal than that one. You tend to like Karim even though he's probably a selfish rascal. Hell, all selfish rascals are inevitably liked, when you come to think of it.
I still haven't finished reading it, but it got me remembering about the time I reviewed R Raj Rao's The Boyfriend. How different the books are, even though they both have gay/bisexual Indians at the core. But then, Kureishi's brilliant. He's supposed to be one of those 'intellectuals', and that's why I avoided him for a long time, but then I finally picked up his Gabriel's Gift sometime back, and that was so great that I told myself I have to read some more from this writer.
The Buddha of Suburbia has not disappointed me yet. Racing towards the end. Well, or as close to racing in book terms as I can get.
;-)
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