That's Amore

I saw first saw Moonstruck  when it released 25 years ago and just adored it. While I am a sucker for romantic comedies of any type, what a joy it was to watch a film about Italians that did not involve guns, back room deals, or kisses of death planted on unsuspecting lips. (Unless you count Nicolas Cage catching Cher completely off-guard with that first smooch.)

I watched it again recently on Netflix, and to my utter and complete satisfaction, it still held up for me. I love that Cher's character, Loretta Castorini, is an older heroine. She's had one love in her life and approaches her engagement pragmatically instead of romantically. She's unprepared for the passion that Cage's character, Ronnie, inspires at their first meeting, but gets swept up in it anyway, throwing her usual caution right out Ronnie's bedroom window.

 Aside from the warm jolts of recognition this movie provides me--the family table, the dutiful Italian daughter, and the humor that informs every scene--I like what it has to say about love. In a departure from most rom-coms, which follow a storybook formula, this movie tells it like it is. In Ronnie's words:

"Love don't make things nice - it ruins everything. It breaks your heart. It makes things a mess. We aren't here to make things perfect. The snowflakes are perfect. The stars are perfect. Not us. Not us! We are here to ruin ourselves and to break our hearts and love the wrong people and die."

É vero, no?  Here's to getting moonstruck, at least once in life, in all its messy and imperfect glory.

I Heart James Stewart

He's all arms and legs, gangly as a teenage boy right after a growth spurt. He's got a scratchy voice that trembles and he stammers, particularly around women. He's cute, for sure--but he's no Cary Grant. But I find him sexy as hell. In two movies in particular, both of which are holiday films. The Shop Around the Corner is a charming little classic about department store co-workers who are each other's secret pen pals, but don't know it. And of course they hate each other. (It's the film on which that other charmer, You've Got Mail, is based.)

In the days long before email and texts, they write each other rather passionate little missives like the one below. (Not sure how it got past the Hayes Code.) Oh, my Dear Friend, my heart was trembling as I walked into the post office, and there you were, lying in Box 237. I took you out of your envelope and read you, read you right there. Whoa. But if you want real sex appeal, check out the telephone scene with Donna Reed in It's a Wonderful Life. Poor George Bailey, determined to get out of Bedford Falls, is stopped in his tracks when his childhood friend Mary, played by Donna Reed, is suddenly all grown up.

Once he gets close to the luminous Reed, he's a goner. And so am I. There's lots of sighing and panting, and a kiss that knocks your socks off. (At least mine, anyway.) Merry Christmas, Jimmy. You were one wonderful guy.

♥ ♥ ♥

Sometimes Spaghetti Likes to Be Alone*

Stanley Tucci's love letter to food, family, and the American Dream is Big Night, a small 1996 film about two Italian brothers who own a restaurant at the Jersey shore. Set in the fifties, the movie has terrific period details, from Isabella Rossellini's chic haircut to the giant-finned cars that cruise the main street of the shore town that is home to the guys' restaurant, Paradise. (Parts of the movie were filmed in Keyport, right here in NJ.)

The  brothers Primo (Tony Shalhoub, who plays one of the most convincing Italians I've seen on screen) and Secondo (Tucci) are struggling to make a go of Paradise. Primo is the consummate chef, whose focus is on serving authentic dishes from their native Abruzzi. Secondo is the businessman, who knows that their American clientele are expecting a different kind of fare from the delicate risottos and seafood dishes that Primo lovingly prepares.

As the brothers lose customers to their competition, Pascal (Ian Holm, in a hilarious turn) it looks as though the Paradise will close. When Secondo hears that musician Louis Prima is in town, the brothers risk everything for that one big night, putting every bit of their resources into planning a grand feast for the famous band leader. And here is the real joy of this film--the food. Each course that comes out is more gorgeous than the last, culminating in a timpano, a complicated dish of pasta, eggs, meat and cheese baked in  pastry. I won't tell you if Prima ever does show up, but it sure is fun waiting for him to arrive, as the restaurant's guests eat, drink, dance, and smoke the night away.

To me this movie feels like home--it's got great food, Italian accents, fifties music and the Jersey shore. Paradise, no?

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*Secondo's answer to a restaurant patron who asks why there aren't meatballs with her spaghetti.

Greetings From the (Real) Jersey Shore

For those of you whose only reference to my beloved coastline is a certain reality show, you may want to check out this sweet indie gem, Greetings from the Shore. A 2008 release, the film was made by Jersey natives Gabrielle Berberich, who wrote and produced, and Greg Chwerchak, who directed. The film was shot in Lavallette, and has lots of oooh-I-know-that-place moments for Jersey natives--like Barnacle Bill's, where two of the characters play miniature golf. The film opens with Jenny, played by Kim Shaw (and suggesting a young Meg Ryan), heading south on the Garden State Parkway to look for a summer job at the shore--something I dreamed of doing as a teen, but alas, never did. During that crazy summer she has run-ins with Russian mobsters as well as country club types, and has a sweet romance with the highly  delectable David Fumero. Paul Sorvino does a wonderful turn as a crusty fisherman who looks out for Jenny as a substitute father. If you're a Jersey native, check it out for nostalgia. For the rest of you out there, consider this film a pretty little postcard from a state with a whole lot more to offer than "gym, tan, and laundry." More about this fun film here.

Here to Stay: An American in Paris

On Saturday night I watched An American in Paris and two days later I'm still hearing Gershwin's jazz riffs in my head, still listening to the swelling strains of "Our Love is Here to Stay," and still wondering how Gene Kelly manages to make ankle-length pants, white socks and black shoes terribly, terribly sexy.

 I'm not generally a fan of the Techicolor era of movie musicals--I'm a diehard Astaire/Rogers gal--but I'm a sucker for this film. Kelly's character, Jerry Mulligan, is an ex-GI turned starving artist on the streets of Paris after WWII. Leslie Caron is Lise, a lovely shop girl with a secret. On first glance, the two don't seem to be much of a match. Until of course, they dance together.   While the film is best known for its wordless 17 minute ballet sequence at the end, for me it will always be defined by one number: the courtship dance to "Our Love is Here to Stay." Kelly is attempting to woo the resistant Caron, who leans shyly against a wall. But once the violins start, Kelly pulls her into a gentle embrace, and the two begin a balletic exchange that is at once sinuous and chaste. And while Caron is a delicate and nuanced dancer, it's Kelly who blows you away. Fleet-footed, graceful, athletic, and undeniably masculine. No matter how many grand jetes he executes, you never for a moment forget he's a guy. (Dance training tends to build muscle in rather interesting ways.)  I hadn't seen this movie in years before Saturday night, and as this dance began I actually let out an audible sigh. Just for a second, I felt as though I were dancing along the banks of the Seine. And it occurred to me that a good dance is a lot like a well-written love scene, with two people who dance around each other before they finally connect in the most satisfying of ways. A scene that builds to certain heights and then quietly falls. A scene that pulls the reader into a world she wishes she could inhabit, even if it's only for a couple of hours.

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Shakespeare at the Movies: Twelfth Night

                                                                                               There are many things to love about this interpretation of Twelfth Night--Trevor Nunn's direction, the kick-ass British cast,  the lush, evocative sets and scenery, and the innovative costume design. Nunn cleverly frames the film with the shipwreck that Shakespeare only alludes to (director John Madden does something similar in Shakespeare in Love, but more about that in a forthcoming post!) and sets the twins up as entertainers who often work in drag. Thus Viola comes ashore in Illyria dragging a chest containing her men's clothes and a handy fake mustache, a situation pretty much unaddressed in the original play. Three performances stand out for me: Toby Stephens lends the self-involved Orlando a warm humanity, and he is lovely to look at as well. Ben Kingsley makes a sharp-witted and observant Fool, who watches from the wings while insanity breaks out all around him. He also does a terrific job interpreting the songs from the play, specifically "Come Away, Come Away Death." ( You can see it here.) But Imogen Stubbs may just be the best Viola I've ever seen. Spunky, witty, and brave, her Viola is alternately heartbreaking and hilarious as she falls deeply in love with a guy who thinks she's a boy. Her scenes with Stephens have a wonderful chemistry, and it's easy to see why Helena Bonham-Carter (as Olivia) falls in love with her. The supporting cast is terrific, filled with lots of faces familiar from the BBC and other costume dramas. I particularly like Richard E. Grant as Sir Andrew, who gives the typically flat character fully human dimensions. Best of all, the actor who plays Sebastian, Steven Mackintosh, looks enough like Stubbs that you don't have to strain your disbelief too much when one is confused for the other. But hey, that's half the fun, isn't it?

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