Monday, February 06, 2006

Memoirs of a Movie

I saw Memoirs of a Geisha last night.

Everybody should have at least one friend who will sneak away to a movie with you on a school night. Better yet if this friend has excellent taste in films. Better even yet if you can talk movies, kids, music, religion, politics, and how you wore your hair in high school.

This kind of friend knows to unbuckle her seatbelt quick as you scream into the parking lot two minutes after the movie starts and you hustle, in unison, the four hundred miles to the ticket counter. She leaps like a gazelle over the elastic barrier to the front of the empty rat-puzzle line with her money out, ready to purchase.

The guy rips the ticket, you go through the turnstile and it smells like popcorn and the carpet has crazy purple patterns on it and you're doing that nerdy fastwalk and the movie posters are so compelling you really want to slow down but you don't 'cause you wanna get that seat, the best seat, your seat and you swing through that door into the darkened abyss and turn the corner, climbing stairs, voices hushed to whispers - right there, over there? - then you find two together and you sink into them and settle your stuff, not on the floor 'cause it's sticky, and you nibble popcorn without being obnoxious because you know the rules and the lights dim and the screen cues up and you quiet with the buttery salt still on your tongue, and you are lost in the magic of movies.

I love it.

So anyway, Geisha started and it was glorious. Totally my vote for cinematography. And the costumes made me want to sew myself a kimono and Start. Walking. Real. Slow. In. Wooden. Shoes.


My friend and I agreed on the ride home: there's something beautiful about the reserve, the demeanor of a Geisha. It's sensual and powerful all at once. As the movie says, a Geisha can stop a man in the street with a flash of her eyes.

And failing that, she can always throw one of her shoes at him.

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