#some real asian girl with blue eyes stuff / some real white girl with japanese name stuff

[thisguyatthemovies]

Breakfast, anyone?

Is there a more enigmatic romantic-comedy than 1961’s “Breakfast at Tiffany’s”?

For one, it has romance, and it has comedy, but it also aims a little higher (or lower, depending on your perspective) and is more melancholic than most films in the genre. Holly Golightly (Audrey Hepburn) was a bit of a feminist (by 1961 standards) and role model, especially when it came to fashion, for generations after she first hit the big screen, but her unhealthily thin physique presents an unrealistic body image. And, oh yeah, she’s a call girl. Or escort. Or, as in the description on the back of the DVD case, a “playgirl.” And an unabashed gold-digger. And we haven’t even got to the part of the film about the horribly racist Asian character played by a white man. Or the fact that Holly, back when she was Lula Mae Barnes, married a much older man. When she was 13.  

And yet, it’s a great film by about any measure. I recently revisited “Breakfast at Tiffany’s,” and here are a few thoughts:

·        First, let’s consider Mr. Yunioshi, a Japanese landlord/photographer as portrayed by Mickey Rooney. That’s right, Mickey Rooney. It’s hard to imagine that even in 1961 (20 years after the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor) Rooney’s horribly insulting and racist portrayal of a Japanese man (complete with cartoonish buck teeth) was at all acceptable. Director Blake Edwards and screenwriter George Axelrod changed the character significantly from the Truman Capote novel of the same name (on which the movie is based), with Rooney, apparently, going for over-the-top laughs. Except, even if you can look past this embarrassment, Mr. Yunioshi adds little to the movie, including laughs. Don’t let this ruin the movie for you. Rooney’s character appears only here-and-there. Just grimace and move along.

·        Speaking of grimaces, how about when Doc Golightly (Buddy Ebsen), a Texan who appears to be in his 50s, reveals he married Lula Mae when she “was going on 14”? When he tells this to Paul Varjak (George Peppard), it doesn’t even get a reaction. Nothing. And then Doc tries to explain his cradle robbing by saying that Lula Mae was “an exceptional person,” whatever that mean for someone 13. “You might think the average person going on 14 wouldn’t know their own mind,” Doc explains, which seems his way of saying that Lula Mae was old enough to make her own decisions. Like marrying a guy at least three decades older than her.

·        The party scene early in “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” goes on for more than 13 minutes, and Edwards might have felt compelled to leave as much of it in as possible since it took several days to shoot. But, like Mr. Yunioshi, it doesn’t seem necessary, other than to add a couple of minor laughs. Its only other purpose is to reveal two of the wealthy men Holly hopes to marry, and to introduce her Hollywood agent, O.J. Berman (a wonderfully slimy Martin Balsam). But those introductions could have been done in well under 13 minutes.

·        Holly Golightly is precisely the kind of woman parents warn guys about. And that’s if you can overlook that she is a call girl AND involved in organized crime. She clearly is bi-polar; she describes having the blues (depression) and the “mean reds” (anxiety). She would seem to have an eating disorder, made clear in a later scene when she talks about being fat and clearly doesn’t even weigh 100 pounds. She is flaky and immature at best. And she has all sorts of dark past. All of which makes her a fixer-upper, the reason Paul Varjak falls for her. She is wild, and he wants to tame her. It’s what guys do. Or try to do. And in real life he would have (or should have) run. But, hey, we wouldn’t have much of a movie then, would we?

At this point you are wondering how this adds up to a great film. So, let’s get to the good stuff.

·        The best stuff is Hepburn, who absolutely lights up the screen every time she is on it. She seems to literally float through the movie, even during her blue or mean red times. She is glamorous even in a bathrobe or while setting a woman’s hat on fire at a party, and she is a woman in control (even if she is, as we eventually find out, in control because she needs to shut people out emotionally). She knows a rat and super rat when she sees him. A romantic movie requires the men in the audience to fall for the lead female character. And we do. Even though we know we shouldn’t.

·        And how about Peppard? He reportedly was difficult to work with, and Hepburn wasn’t exactly fond of him on set. And he and Hepburn weren’t even supposed to be in the film. Re-imagine it, if you will, with Marilyn Monroe (Capote’s first choice) and Steve McQueen in the lead roles. And yet Peppard and Hepburn have insane amounts of chemistry. Give Peppard his due for that. Paul Varjak, no saint himself as an underemployed writer who accepts money from a married woman for sex, is the eye in Holly Golightly’s storm. At times he looks like a lost puppy dog, and a man who knows he is about to get in over his head and is powerless to do anything about it.

·        “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” has undertones about the haves and have-nots (O.J. Berman says he knows Holly Golightly is a fake and that he knows she is either a “hillbilly or an Okie” instead of one of the beautiful New York City socialites she projects herself to be), and there’s a subplot about an organized crime narcotics ring. But it is a romance at heart, and the movie takes it to the next level when Paul and Holly figure out they are in love.

Two scenes in particular contain more movie magic than any film should be allowed. Paul and Holly decide to take turns doing things neither of them has done before, and that’s when their love blossoms. He takes her to a library, where he autographs the one book of his that has been published. They go to Tiffany’s but can’t afford any jewelry (they have just $10 to spend, not much money even in 1961). So, they decide to have a ring from a Cracker Jack box engraved. The Tiffany’s salesman (the beautifully dry John McGiver) then delivers one of the movie’s most memorable lines: “Do they still really have a prize in Cracker Jack boxes? … That’s nice to know. It gives one a feeling of solidarity, almost of continuity with the past, that sort of thing.” Holly then takes Paul to a five-and-dime, where she wants to shoplift something. They decide on cartoon character masks, walk out of the store with them on, run along the sidewalks of New York wearing them and then get to their apartment building, where they lift their masks and share their first romantic kiss.

Holly flakes out, of course, and sets out to marry a wealthy, handsome Brazilian man. Her ploy is foiled when she is busted as part of the drug ring, and her fiancé calls off the marriage. Holly, of course, plows ahead with plans to fly to South America. This sets up the final scene, the most important of any movie, but doubly important in a romance. Paul and Holly are riding in the back of a cab on a rainy day, and an upset Holly, with her marriage (and wealth) pulled out from underneath her, decides to turn her cat loose on the streets of New York. Peppard then gets the movie’s biggest moment, the kind of speech that tends to show up at some point in every romantic-comedy. “You call yourself a free spirit, a ‘wild thing,’ and you’re terrified somebody’s gonna stick you in a cage. Well baby, you’re already in that cage. You built it yourself. And it’s not bounded in the west by Tulip, Texas, or in the east by Somali-land. It’s wherever you go. Because no matter where you run, you just end up running into yourself.”

Even if you’ve somehow managed to not see an iconic film that’s been around almost 58 years now, I don’t need to tell you what happens next. “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” delivers the goods in the end, enough so that it can make you forget – or at least forgive – its confounding missteps.

#movies #movie review #movie recommendation #breakfast at tiffany's #audrey hepburn #romantic-comedy

[marlyn-hallow]

A Little (Lot) Bit About Me and This Blog Thing

First off, I don’t exactly want to be a liar, so Marlyn Hallow is not my real name -- for safety reasons. I don’t fancy stalkers or being stalked. Second, no, I do not plan on sharing my real name, that would just defeat the whole purpose. Third, I am not 17 years old, although, I am also not a 60 year old pervert. For some truth, my age is within 2 years of the age of 17, so feel free to assume. I’ll never correct you. Forth, yes, that is a picture of me from the side. Photoshop and picture credits go to me, myself, and I (and no, not the song, sorry guys). Finally, everything I write is/was never taken from someone else, so that main aspect about me is truthful on here.

Here’s a little more about me:

My biggest pet peevs are texting & driving and grammatically incorrect things.

I’m 5′4″ (or am I?)

I weigh.... .00000000000000000000091116173% in lbs of the earth’s mass. Come on, if you really want to know, you must work for it.

My eye color is brown.

My hair color is changing.

My favorite color is... ask me if you want to know.

My favorite book is any book... ask me if you want to know which I’d recommend or which are my top 10 favorites, I can’t have just one.

I have a love/hate relationship with socializing. Some days I’m an introvert, some days I’m an extrovert.

I like public speaking.

I love reading.

I love being by myself. Being alone doesn’t mean I’m lonely.

I kind-of like shopping.

I have one dog, an Airedale, who is probably secretly gay (no hate), is the most vocal dog, and has the worst farts. His name is Baxter.

I have one fish, a Beta, and he is blue, purple, and green. He is feisty; I used to have 3 shrimp in a 5 gallon tank with him, they were doing great for a few months, then all three shrimp died within a week of each other, so I’m blaming the Beta. He is also very demanding and egotistical, but otherwise a good tank mate for only himself. His name is Linguine.

I love the Spanish language, and I’d say that I know enough of the language that if I have to talk to a native speaker, I could get my point across. I’m also going into my fifth year of taking the language as a foreign language class. At this point, my high school has this as a college course.

I love everything about school, except getting up early and some of the people.

I want to be an aerospace engineer and am currently in a program partnered with NASA, so I’m almost there, not just saying that to be cool. (BTW, dear God, it’s so hard, what people are doing in this program. Be thankful that there are people smart enough and willing to do that job, because I am.)

I am lazy. (no shame)

I own a Range Rover Evoque and it is lime green (don’t think that is the actual name) and I am very proud of it.

And I just realized that this post is going to be very long and I sound really boring and stuck up. I promise I smile. And I try to be humble. And nice. And caring. I swear to you, if you’re still reading this, I’m not mean. I do not judge (unless you’re a murderer or (real talk) rapist or animal abuser, then get out of here please, I don’t want you).

I am a violinist.

I am Caucasian.

I was born and raised in the good ol’ US of A.

I have a love like no other for Italian food.

I also love, love, love Tiramisu. If you want my age, send me a Tiramisu the size of the empire state building.

I also hate lady fingers and espresso, which is weird, because if you’ve ever made Tiramisu, those two things are literally half of it.

My favorite coffee is either black over ice, or hot with milk and 3 sugars. I also hate Starbucks hot coffee and everything else, except for the iced coffee and strawberries and cream frappuccino.

My favorite tea is a tie between Earl Grey tea with sugar and English Breakfast Tea with sugar and lemon.

I live on the east coast of the USA, and that’s as close as you’re getting to my location.

I also love the idea of pen-pals, but have no idea how to even begin, so if you’re male and between the ages of 17 and 21, hit me up, yo. Lol, jk. (*breaks character**cringes at herself*)  Hah, it’s not like I’m some loser who has her nose in a book 24/7 and the majority of people she talks to are girls and never gets invited to parties, ha ha. ha....ha.... oh wait.... Seriously though, those preferences are preferable, but if you are a girl and want to talk, that’s fine to. I just need a straight (but again, no hate, none at all. Love is love, spread the word, people.) guy in my life because right now, it’s so full of girlishness and disgustingly pinkness that I’m sick. Let’s talk about farts and cars and food and disgustingly gorgeous stuff with each other and give advice on the opposite gender. I’ll be your confidant and if you want, you can be mine. But, no sexual stuff/exchanges, nah uh, I ain’t about that life. Unless you just want advice, want to ask questions, want to tell me a story about some sexual adventure or horror story you had, or just any other thing like those, then okay, that’s cool. Just no engaging in sexual activities over whatever platform we are using. I’m looking for a friend, not a hookup. And now, since writing that, I might make a post about looking for a pen-pal...so, if anyone reads this and sees a post similar to this part, yes, I know I already said this. And for anyone who is wondering or hasn’t figured it out yet, I am a straight girl, but really, I promise, I can’t stress this enough, I do not judge or hate on the LGBTQ community. If you are gay, lesbian, queer, black, white, brown, purple, bisexual, asexual, pansexual, metrosexual, alien, Chinese, Japanese, Asian, Spanish, Brazilian, Italian, you get my point, I don’t care and it makes no difference to me or to how I will treat you. We are all human -- except for you, alien, I see you -- and therefore, we all deserve love and equal treatment and opportunities. Okay. There. I think I’ve finally made my point.

If you want to know anything else, feel free to ask, I wont bite. *winks weirdly like on steroids*

This Blog Thing:

This blog that I’m starting is going to be a piece of work, and this is sorta my first one. I did have one I tried to start on weebly and soon gave up after because I just forgot about it. But this one is different. Or so I keep telling myself. This one is going to be me ranting, informing whoever reads my crap about my life, and boasting about my earthly accomplishments. This post is going to be my outlet because I currently have very few. I will combust without this. So, if nobody reads this, I’m fine with it. This is for me, for my health. If people do read this and ask me questions or comment or interact with me or anything, then I guess this blog is for y’all, too, then, not just for me.  This blog will also be my brain word-vomiting, so sorry in advance. I would do a vlog, but Lordy Jesus, that’s so much work that I don’t have the time nor energy to do. I am also kind of shy, so I’m trying to break out of my shell a little bit on here. So, this is me, the real me with a fake name and and a fake age. I don’t think I bruise too easily, so if you’re a hater, hate. Just not on anybody else, only me. If you do hate on someone else, I will come for you, be waiting. 

So, without further ado, let me begin... tomorrow, though, I want to sleep first.

Goodnight everybody! (although I’m probably the only one reading this)

#boring #long post #weirdo #proud #truther #liar #me #personal #pen pal