The only class I ever flunked was "Literature of the Romantic Period" -- which is ironic since I write romantic fiction for a job. I understand this. I didn't take the final. I thought to myself, I could go...sit there...spend two hours and flunk the final -- since there are no multiple choice questions in literature analysis -- or I could go to the beach. Take that same "F" and not regret it so much because I have a great tan. Ding, ding, ding -- the answer is "B" -- go to the beach.
So all these years later, it's come back with horrifying clarity that the beach was indeed the right choice. I went to see "Bright Star" last night. Now, I love art films. LOVE them. I will sneak away by myself on a Friday morning with a packet of Kleenex, and drink in the beauty of foreign films while I secretly inhale a bag of Sour Skittles. "Bright Star" was not one of those moments for me. I met my friend Kathryn at the door and we did have a great time, but it wasn't the film I'm afraid. Too many long-shots in drawing rooms for my taste. And like "Into the Wild" -- a book I loved -- well, I knew the hero died at the end of that one, too and 3/4 into the film, I'm like, DIE ALREADY!
My daughter Elle went too -- her second foray into the BBC world. She's also watched the full-length version of "Pride & Prejudice" with me and shouts "Mr. Darcy!" every time she sees Colin Firth. (Very cute in Mamma Mia, by the way.) Whereas my BFF leaned over in "Mamma Mia" and said about Colin in MM, "Your boyfriend is wearing paisley." Blasphemy!
So "BS" is the story of John Keats and his obsessive, kinda freaky love for Fanny Brawne (Lindon). Maybe I read too many brain books writing this last book, but I could only think of the many anti-psychotics that may have helped Keats. Make him a little bit more practical, so that he might have married his beloved and made some money on his writing. I think if he married her, it may have ended as a domestic violence story rather than an unrequited love/romance -- but that's just me.
I loved the dialogue in the opening of the movie, and the spirited, sassy Fanny and her beautiful clothes and peacock lifestyle in a brown world. No wonder Keats took notice of her. Ultimately though, at the end when the Keats' character is reciting his ridiculously-long and overblown poetry, I realized, I STILL don't get it. I love words. I love the poetry of Thomas Hardy and Lord Byron, but it makes sense to me. Keats just annoys me. I would diagnose him with borderline personality disorder (for the way he loved/then hated women) and call it a day.
At least I know now why I flunked that class. Why I would still flunk! I'd risk it all for another day like that. To some, poetry . This is poetry to the soul, and back when I wore a bikini? Well, no competition at all. LOL