Last night, hubby and I took a turn at some movie-going. He had been waiting, seemingly much of his adult life, for this very moment in movie-making history.
Violin girl had enthusiastically suggested “Rio.” But, no, we were going to see some purported obscure movie about a bunch of rich nitwits who’ve made it their business to exploit themselves, and others, against a perceived governmental chokehold–or something like that.
Frankly, I was dumbfounded. I expected very little from the movie, as it was hubby’s to enjoy, since he (and much of his family) had been devoted fans of the book. I’m more of a non-fiction kind of gal, especially when it comes to politics, and such. No matter. The least I was hoping for were an array of dinner party scenes with mountains of fine meats and silver-plated soup tureens.
What I got instead were some small scenes of an incidental wine glass here; a half-hidden plate of some roast beef there. The most eating I’d seen came from the old oil tycoon who had eaten three hearty bites of steak, while skewering big government. Try getting away with that at Kaukab’s table.
Luckily for me, we had a wonderful Greek dinner to look forward to afterwards, where we noshed on lamb, humous, green beans stewed in tomatoes, celery, and carrots, and wonderful rice, sauteed with onions and laden with Greek aromatics. We finished it off with homemade baklava.
A perfect meal for an imperfect film. I even managed to get hubby to admit as much. With a shrug, though.