I usually come downstairs around 1:45 to open up. On Sundays, I splurge and come down at 1:48.
The other day S. came in and in the usual post-Thanksgiving debriefing said he'd gone to see the movie Lincoln. (It's about Abraham Lincoln.) S. asked me if I saw it.
I suspect I'll never see Lincoln because it was directed by Steven Spielberg, my least favorite director. This is being polite. I dislike Steven Spielberg as a director because he walks around all kumbaya with gentle, aw-shucks humility when in fact he ruins every movie he's ever made because he can't get his big fat ego out of the way. Okay, that was a little less polite. I can't watch his movies because I know it's coming, it always does, his jump-the-shark moment, to the distraction of everything else.
But when S. asked me if I'd seen it, I said, "No." I asked him how it was, and then something just magical happened: S. answered with the word "overacting."
Overacting. I offered my take on Spielberg but then S developed his take on Spielberg and suddenly I saw that I'd been so wrapped up in his J-the-S-ness I neglected to notice the more obvious overacting. Brilliant!
So, like, I proffered my J-the-S moment in Schindler's List, and S. beautifully responds, "Liam Neeson: overacting."
Daniel Day Lewis, overacting. Sally Fields, overacting. Indiana Jones....you got it.
I'm so happy! There's like this whole new dimension to why Spielberg sucks that I'd never previously noticed! It totally made my week.
Then I showed S. the movie trailer I made for Lincoln:
