So Poor Kyle was disappointed because I wouldn’t let him buy a really expensive dog right before we have to pay tuition for university, and then the next day, to soften the blow, I told him he could buy a new TV, but when that turned out to be more expensive then we planned, I reneged yet again, so he was even more bummed than before, so then we went to a movie which finally did soften the blow, just a little, but anyway it was good.
We saw Sherlock Holmes, at Poor Kyle’s suggestion, and not only was I thrilled that we’d get to see a London-based movie (particularly 221B Baker Street, a location I have seen with my own two eyes, and that’s just…nostalgia to the max), but moreover, IT WASN’T AVATAR. I have heard from hundreds of sources that Avatar is amazing, but then I’ve heard from two sources (people who think very much like me) that Avatar was lousy, and that pretty much settled it for me. I don’t want to see it. I have a very low tolerance for sci-fi, apocalyptic, end of the world nonsense. Plus, it is three hours long, and I only dedicate three + hours of my life to the very most classic of movies, like A&E’s version of Pride and Prejudice, or the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy—good stuff like that.
Image from here.
So Sherlock Holmes it was. We went, spent $20.00 on tickets (absurd, but Poor Kyle was in mourning, and no price is too great when my husband is in mourning {well, except for those shockingly expensive prices for televisions and dogs}), and $11.00 on food (which should have been closer to $20.00 but the people who work at the movie theatre in town are just so, so hard for me to say nice things about, and when I was off collecting straws and napkins, our veeeeeeery slooooooow cashier charged us only $11.00 for food that should have been $20.00, and Poor Kyle paid for it, and I didn’t really feel that bad about keeping quiet once I’d seen the damage had been done), and it was a really great time.
Image from here.
I wouldn’t recommend it for kids under maybe ten or twelve. Not because it was particularly gruesome or sexy (in fact, the only part that could have been at all offensive was Sherlock handcuffed naked to a bed with a pillow over his hoo-ha, but that’s no worse than men in Speedos), but just because it was very quick. There were times when my mind wandered to the loveliness of the set (which was actually more dirty than lovely, but I am attracted equally to all things British, filthy or not), and by the time I snapped back to the movie only seconds later, I had missed major plot points. It was just very quick. But I liked it quite a lot. And, indeed, if you have an exceptionally bright eight or nine year old child, I don’t suppose I could be averse to him or her viewing the movie. It really was quite clever.
Poor Kyle liked it, too, although I’m not sure if it was sufficient salve for his broken heart.
Someday, somehow, his no-dog wounds will heal, and his poor sorrowful face will turn from this:
to this:
In good time, my dear Watson. In time.
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