she told me tenderly

I thought this weekend would be free from Necessary Wording, but one again it's all been about freelancing. Writing Rewriting. Whatever. It's all over Wednesday, come hell or high-water, and I like that. I am SO sick of it all the moment, but I haven't stopped caring either, so that's nasty.

I'm doing that silly thing of letting a familiar movie keep me company. Right now it's The Man Who Knew Too Much. It makes me marvel right away, like every time, at the unanswered question: did they know what they were creating? By which I mean, there isn't a better, more pointed, sharper portrait of Babbitty 50s mid-America than this film, but it's not clear those involved knew it. Hale-hearty, bluff, hand-shaking, clueless, no-French-speaking, everybody-loves-an-American, right? Hoosier angry-underneath Jimmy Stewart--and the scene where he gives Doris the sedatives...it's like a 90-min Playhouse or an Agee play or something. Really brill. But freaky. It sounds patronizing--did they know? But still. It's part of the weirdness. And convincingness. Hard to tell.

Before that I watched the Hefner bio...er, twice (kind of). Not really sure why it's Okay to do that! His beauty ideal is as--more--pernicious as Helen Throwup Brown or whomever you want to indict. But still--I don't hate him. Hain't rational. Weird.