Speaking of misleading Balzac publicity, based on the low necklines and passionate-looking embraces on the movie sleeve, I rented the Duchess of Langeais the other night and lured Joe into watching it with me by telling him it would be a chest-heaving bodice ripper with French subtitles (read: unscrupulous love scenes). I was encouraged by the NY times review above which also led me to believe it might be an artful "film." Here's the short of it: they never even got further than a kiss on the forehead before the Duchess ran off to the convent. So there, go ahead and watch it with your kids. It has a great message: flirting is dangerous, and a relatively positive protrayal of Catholic religious. Just don't expect to be entertained. There's basically three sets which all look a little bit cardboard, there's no soundtrack, not even a mournful moaning woman singing in another language for this tragedy, all the parts when the Duchess plays the piano forte sound like an amateur pianist/actress playing piano, and each scene is separated by blocks of text on a black screen that read: an hour later, or one week later, or five years earlier, with an occasional textblock lifted word for word out of the novel. Brilliant!
OK, so the kids didn't watch it with us, but the sleepy mood must have taken over the house because everyone fell asleep in strange places:
On a different note, Jane has been distinguishing herself as an artist lately. I wanted to share with the Cooks especially her most recent still life, which as you can see, features their picture as though it were a shrine to the Cook children.
Albeit, this shrine also features spinach seeds, overnight diapers, a book of coupons, and a rather ugly dishtowel.