I have quite a bit of work to do that will take me off-blog today, but I did want to share with you a passage I read from David Denby's New Yorker review of "Crazy, Stupid, Love" that I found quite scintillating as I jogged in place at the local gym. Describing a scene where Ryan Gosling's character takes Emma Stone's character to his bachelor pad for the first time, Denby writes:
[A]nd arriving at his wrap-around-glass bachelor pad, demands that he remove his shirt, which he does, revealing a chest and abs so perfectly sculpted that she's revolted. She says, "Seriously? It's like you're Photosopped!" Men in the audience may be relieved to hear that at least some women find the perfection of a gym body too close to narcissism to be a turn-on, and Stone gives the line, and many others, a quick, precise, tart delivery.
Women in the audience, on the the other hand, took their relief in the realization that should they be bold enough to achieve physical perfection, no one will hold it against them. I, for one, would like to thank the two male directors and the male screenwriter of "Crazy, Stupid, Love" for this revelation. I had been up late at nights recently worried that perhaps I should lighten up on the gym and diet routine, but now I can go after it worry-free.
In all seriousness, there should be a special Oscar for rom-com actresses who manage to sell odious dialogue like that. At least the screenwriters should send them flowers with cards thanking said actresses for rescuing their careers from their own hackery.