penelope
Despite the annual bitch-fest that takes place this time of year due to scarcity in filmic entertainment, I find myself at the movie house an awful lot. Thanks a pant-load, writers’ strike.
Yes, for the second time this week, Er and I headed to the cineplex with entertainment on our minds and anger in our hearts. So thirsty are we for the moving image that we are willing to continually risk crowd interaction in Times Square as well as fork over more money than we spend on life-sustaining palatables. I can only guess it’s because the flicks we see have electrolytes. So, on the day in question, despite risking my other porcine affiliations, the two of us set out to see Penelope. What ensued was unexpected.
Which indicates, I suppose, that I had expectations. True enough. I thought I’d be told a modern tale telling me to love myself just the way I am, and not worry too much about all weird defects that I have because, if a pig-girl can do it, so can I. You see, pig-girls have historically had a rough time of it, and usually end up kind of mad at the world (see Saw III for further evidence). So, I expected a ham-fisted but visually distracting tale about the greatest love of all, which I assumed was happening to Penelope. Instead, I got roughly ninety minutes of strange pacing with no ultimate message beyond something like when things get weird, you have to deal with it.
If it sounds like I’m complaining, turn down the voices in your head. It was actually quite refreshing. The whole thing had a surreality to it that worked well with the fairy tale framing. From the different degrees of aptitude with fake accents to an unexpectedly satisfying meta-ending, it was the kind of surprise that was pleasant, unlike opening the cupboard door under your sink to find a clown crouched in wait. The only downside was when Er made me feel bad that I got the tiny man in this movie confused with a tiny man from another movie. Now, I have a bit of a history with miniature people, where making fun of them is really, really funny when I do it. It’s because they’re short, and I am average height. That disparity is guaranteed hilarity, each and every time I make a note of it. Even when it’s just because they’re children or amputees. Or both.
Somewhere between the skulking jesters and pediatric limb removals, I lost track of whatever point I was going to make, but I do wish they’d spent more time on the prosthetic nose. It looked weird and made it hard for me to like the pig-girl because she was hideous. See? I told you the movie didn’t have a message.