Prime, The Uma, and a pathetic Friday night

How did I end up alone in the garret, watching a reprehensible "sophisticated character comedy," drinking an entire bottle of red wine, and being generally weepy and sentimental on a Friday night? Because, really folks, contrary to some of the evidence on this blog for the past few months, I am generally a naturally happy and spontaneous and funny and fun-loving social creature. I have my depresso moments (as well as the ominous "history of depression"--yes, even with the naturally happy disposition), but I know the depression for what it is and I know how to manage it. So last night had nothing to do with depression and, truth be told, it is not the first time I have chosen to sit at home with some cheap wine and a bad movie on a Friday night. And, yes, it was a choice. But why?

I blame a) my cable company; b) Ex Turned Friend; and c) Uma Thurman.

a) Earlier this week, I threatened to breakup with my evil and expensive cable company, so they came bearing gifts, including HBO, in order to get me not to switch over to less evil, less expensive cable company. Even though I currently have two great movies that students gave to me to watch and two from Netflix I am dying to watch, I am mesmerized by the many lame choices on HBO, including The Lake House (en espanol, no less), Hope Floats, and Prime, the movie I have now watched not only once when I was kind of trapped into watching it on a cross-country flight, but a second time BY CHOICE. More on this in a moment.

b) I had thought I would go to a going-away last-hurrah party thing for Ex Turned Friend last night. I could have gone had I planned better and I probably should have gone. I have been wavering about it for a while now, though, and I didn't do everything I needed to do to make it happen and ended up too exhausted to go anyway. We had our own last-hurrah thing, so it's not like I am an asshole for not going. It was just sad sitting around alone thinking about it going on while I was at home, even though I chose to be home, you know? I know. It doesn't make much sense and perhaps leads one to the conclusion that I just wanted to have a little pity party with myself last night. Moving on.

c) I have a fascination with Uma Thurman. I will watch any movie, buy any magazine, read any news item involving The Uma. I am even fascinated by anyone associated with The Uma, like Dash Snow, who is a pretty interesting dude in his own right but who more importantly for my Uma-fascination purposes is the son of Robert Thurman's daughter by his first marriage (i.e. the son of The Uma's older half-sister). Needless to say, I can not turn myself away from the screen when The Uma is on it, which is why last night I would not stop watching a movie that I knew full well had me seething more and more with each and every air mile as I made my way from coast to coast the first time I watched it. I can't really blame The Uma, though, because I feel like she made a lot of bad choices film-wise after the breakup with Ethan. It was as if she was getting some things out of her system, and we cannot really blame people for the bad art they produce when such is the case. With Prime, I think she was trying to send Ethan a message, something like, "You were not ready for me and our children and our life together you little fourteen years younger than me on an emotional level cheating emotional fuckwit, Ethan Hawke, and I should have not had children with you, and I should have let you go long before it came to that, and--look--I am totally having sex with the much younger, much hotter Bryan Greenberg, ON SCREEN FOR THE WHOLE WORLD TO SEE, while you are being pathetic in Paris with Julie Delphy, walking around the streets of Paris, looking about 5000 years older than when you were with her walking around the streets of Vienna and NOT HAVING SEX WITH A HOT YOUNG MAN FOR THE WHOLE WORLD TO SEE, but I forgive you in the end." So really The Uma was too distracted to see the message she was sending to the rest of the world with the movie, which is very simply "women in their thirties should not date men in their twenties because women in their thirties are 'on the clock' and want to have babies, and men in their twenties cannot be saddled with the emotional needs of women in their thirties, much less babies, so you over-thirty ladies must set those young men in their prime free. Because you? Totally past your prime." Scream now at this message, for as long as you want, as any self-respecting man or woman such as myself (who, ok, admittedly does regularly date much younger men and who usually does not feel disposed to be apologetic about it) should do. Absolutely do not do what I did, according to the following formula.

A + B + C= Copious tears over the "touching" last scene which brings home the "beautifully real message" of the film by showing The Uma and Young Man in His Prime staring lovingly at each other through a restaurant window, forever separated but knowing they have made the right decision for their oh-so-different futures. And, to make it worse, I had somehow come to think of (the eight years younger) ETF and myself as having necessarily suffered a similar fate AND that this fate was a beautiful thing AND oh who the fuck knows, as I was by then to the end of the bottle of Le Mazet. The point is that these were sanctimonious tears over a bad little movie made by a despairing Uma and over a romance with ETF that ended not over being on different paths or someone wanting babies or having different ideas about John Coltrane but actually over nothing more than the fact that in the end we are much better as friends.

Apparently I have a lot to get out of my system as well and I have a feeling I am going to let it all (well, pretty much all) fly here. I apologize in advance. And, Uma, if you are reading, I forgive you for making a movie that made me cry in spite of my better instincts. You are fantastic. Now I am going to stop being a maudlin freak and go out into the sunshine with my pup.