Living for the Revel (catvalente) wrote,
Living for the Revel
catvalente

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Life at Sea

I am professor-colored today: brown skirt, tweed jacket over parchmenty shirt with flared Boleyn-sleeves. It is very stormy outside--the rain woke me up a few times last night. I dreamed about college courses long passed--when does that shit stop?

Anyway, we saw Pirates, finally, and while it was sufficient, I guess, I wonder where all the good dialogue went. Also:

The only time I even snapped to attention was when Will got stabbed--it suddenly turned into something a little less predictable. But Elizabeth...while I choose to believe, based on the kid's hat and song stylings, that she spent those ten years being the Pirate King, the former Navy wife in me seethed in rage. My stomach churned and my throat tightened. No, it is never enough, that one day in ten years. No matter what happens on that day. When Turner asserted that, quipping "It depends on the day," I sunk down in my chair, narrowed my eyes, and whispered: "Fuck you." Even more than the idiocy of Elizabeth being fully able to visit him at sea, I hate this idealized Waiting Woman schtick. I did it. It is intolerable. Yet it is visited on movie and novel heroines as a soul-tempering tonic, something to keep the ladies in line, to enoble them. Drop dead, male writers--that is no way for a human to live. I wanted Elizabeth to end up the Pirate Queen after the second movie--it's clearly where they were going with the compass and her love of piracy. But this...this was too close to home. A woman giving up her passion and power to sit. and. wait. You know what happens at the end of that? All that bitterness? All that loneliness? Take a long look at Calypso.

In the end, I was no Penelope, nor even Elizabeth. I could not wait. It's not my nature.

Bleh. Why must you always disappoint me, Movies? I am so loyal, so trusting, yet you always give me crap wrapped up in a big bow. At best you give me "I guess that didn't quite make me want to barf." Aim higher, dammit.
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