(Sorry for the bombardment of tres blog posts within a mere handful of hours; giving you a dry spell with a post chucked here and there then plunging on with many – what can I say? I’m all or nothing).
Maaaaaate. If you actually follow this blog you will have read a wee while back that I’m the biggest hole picker when it comes to films, (feel fancy and cultured using that instead of the more mainstream “movie”; continuing the “husband” mature minded buzz from post before previous where ever I can it seems) books and what not. But I just saw the most SENSATIONAL flick (ew, dislike myself a weeny but for using that phrase but so be it!) that resonated with me so well, it struck a chord like Ed (Sheeran; the old eating disorder can’t strum a tune) on the acoustic.
How To Be Single. Wow. Like, full on wow my friends. I was keen to see it, more the pull of Rebel Wilson (isn’t she fab) than anything else – the trailer certainly didn’t have me leaping out of my seat and heading to the cinemas. But Deb and I had made noises about going the movies tonight, HTBS (as it shall now be referred to – fuck typing out the entirety of the title the whole way through this) happened to be on at a very suitable time, and besides – I had a movie deal to get us in for $11 each (cheers Hoyts).
Well. Ten minutes in I thought I had it all mapped out. Think you’re clever Christian Ditter (director; found out in my googling spree on return home) I sneered. Obviously this, this and this is going to happen; she’ll end up with him, he’ll go back to her, they’ll do this and that. Bloody clear as Nivea cleanser, plain as the Sahara.
That self righteousness lasted all of a further seven minutes. Then I felt like a tosser.
Usually I am a big one for plot spoiling but in this instance I’m not going to give the game away. Go see it yourself (you’ll thank me).
But holy shit. I actually found myself nodding with gusto at some of the situations. Clapping – yes, clapping – in consensus with some of the lines. Chuckling out loud at the more witty moments (I know right? As I doubled over in mirth it was mingled with disbelief at myself).
But seriously. That movie (there we go, back to standard old Pop) spoke to me. I felt a kinship with it so strong it was like Valerie Adams was shotputting between us. I even enjoyed Dakota Johnson in it, and before now I haven’t been her top punkah. Now I’m rooting for her wholeheartedly! She’s smashing.
As with every movie and myself, it all comes down to the final scene; the note it ends on is crucial to my review. And this one didn’t disappoint. There was a moment my heart started palpitating when I thought a male was going to appear amongst the Canyon (slight spoiler, apologies) but – thank above! Hail the director! – it ’twas not to be, and the credits started rolling (well, appearing as seems to be the stylistic go to nowadays) so did a firm nod from me (yet another head bob – what those behind me must have thought, I don’t know). (Actually, I could hazard a pretty spot on guess; either that I had an involuntary neck rocking issue, or I was a very enthusiastic film goer).
I left feeling empowered. Pumped. Declaring my love for the storyline (over and over and over). Even txting some pals to insist they must see it ASAP (there was a second screening at 9.45).
How To Be Single? All that and more. Including why you should enjoy being so.