"Julie and Julia", and 'lady cancer' - a movie review of sorts

I saw Julie and Julia last night. I really enjoyed it! Mainly for the Julia Child content - Paris was beautiful, her clothes were beautiful, the shops were beautiful... EVERYTHING was beautiful. My accompanying g.f. and I kept whispering inane things like "Look at that beautiful window!" "Ohhh... look at that jelly mould!" over our choc tops. And Meryl Streep, as usual, was wonderful. I loved her as Julia! I like her as Meryl too, but sort of wish she could stay as Julia. Maybe because of the hats. Not sure.

I am premenstrual so I teared up quite a bit during the film. Julia and Paul Child's relationship is exquisitely presented and there was a lovely Valentine's dinner speech he made... Tearing up as I recall it. Still premenstrual ...He was recounting taking Julia out to lunch for the first time. "And it was Julia! It had been Julia all along". Oh... Then the KILLER - "you are the butter to my bread, the air in my life". Oh crap! Soggy choc top!

And then the fact that she couldn't have children. As a woman watching her productive years gurgle down the drain, that was sure to strike a hormonal note!

if you're not familiar with the film, or the book from which it was taken, or the blog that spawned the book, here is a brief synopsis. Julie Powell is basically stuck in a rut, at an age (the transition to 30's) where she is taking a good hard look at herself. She set out to be a writer but is working a dead end secretarial job. She decides to cook every recipe in Julia Child's food bible - Mastering the Art of French Cooking - over the course of a year. That's 524 recipes in 364 days. During that year she learns stuff, melts down, kills crustaceans, and, ultimately, changes her life forever.

I read the book when it came out a few years ago and was a little ambivalent to be honest. I thought it was a very interesting quest, I very much enjoyed the food aspect, and I thought it was adequately written (basically in blog form from memory, with some padding). But Julie! I know you were going through your little 'turning 30' crisis but I just wanted to slap you! Whinge, guzzle, whinge, guzzle. Stop drinking and stop feeling so sorry for yourself! Me, me me!! It was tiring!

She really lost me was when she decided to ask blog readers for money. I mean I know lobster is expensive, but this is your journey sweetheart, nobody asked you to do it for their gratification. Reasoning along the lines of - well, all these people are logging on and enjoying my blog, so why shouldn't they foot part of the bill? - just doesn't wash with me. You took it on, you wear it. It's not like I don't understand poverty, or at the least the western, lower middle class version of it experienced by Ms Powell, I do. All too well.

I wonder, those who contributed to help pay for the burnt boeuf bourguignon, were they refunded after she got the book deal? The movie deal?? Or even out of the earlier earnings from various magazine and tv appearances??? Am I being all bourgeois about this? Maybe... I'm going to give her the benefit of the doubt and assume that, having kept careful records (cos she totally seemed that sort of girl... not) she saw that all her contributers received recompense and heartfelt thanks. After all, it was the people reading her margarita-fuelled musings that made it all happen, n'est-ce pas??

Anyway, well done Amy Adams, you made her not quite so annoying. And, as I wish Meryl could remain inhabiting Julia, perhaps Julie Powell wishes that you could stay as her for a while...

Well now I feel all awful because I have bagged a fellow blogger. And let's face it, one who has had a lot of success! It might just be the hormones... It's certainly not her blog, or her subsequent success. All that is, and was, fine. It's just the drinking and the moaning. I think I found the book a downer, except when she was describing food or Julia. I REALLY felt for her husband. And the money thing. Raw nerve. Just rude.

Having bashed Julie as much as I can stomach, I want to turn, briefly, to another aspect of last night - it was a charity event for cancer of the various 'lady-bits'. So boobs and all the downstairs equipment. What I want to know is this - if some clever-trousers goes "eureka! I have cured... cancer of the vulva!" is that going to help out the poor sods with... I don't know, cancer of the knee, say? I mean, is it all a related cure?

Because it struck me last night, whilst listening to the rundown of the various body parts my movie ticket plus verdehlo $'s were going towards safeguarding, I have donated a lot of money to 'lady cancer' over the last few years, as we all probably have. I have no problem with that - I am a Scorpio, we are prone to genital problems apparently. But whilst sipping my pricey cleanskin drop, I had the dark thought - when my time comes I'll probably end up with cancer of the elbow and there'll be no benefit night, no coloured ribbons, no donated spray tans to raffle...

Again, probably the hormones. Another chocolate frog will banish the darkness.