So I was uh, getting ready to go to the library (and mourning a certain TV death1) when I came upon Pajiba’s “Guide to Third Date Flicks”, the premise being that on the third date, you bare your cinematic soul to your prospective mate or whatever. I usually don’t enjoy this kind of humour because of the high “men are like this, but women are like that” quotient, but then I also enjoy judging people based on what stuff they like2, so I’m not sure whether to endorse the article.
Maybe because it hit so awfully close to home:
If either partner sticks in Truffaut, David Lynch, Von Trier, Bertolucci, Malick or anyone else of their ilk, someone is already trying too hard to impress — if he/she is actually an intellectual heavyweight, there is no need to bother with Le Crime de Monsieur Lange unless he/she is out to prove something or he/she is an asshole movie critic (or film student) and, trust me, you don’t want to go there. Roman Polanski, Jean-Luc Godard, foreign films, and documentaries might suggest a high level of intelligence, but they’re not good third-date choices unless you’re trying to scare away your Ashton Kutcher types or sleep with one of your grad students, who feign interest to procure an A in your class. Don’t get me wrong: There is something to be said for a cerebral mate, but anyone who discusses auteur theories on a third date probably doesn’t wash his or her hair very often and will likely end up trying to talk you into an “open relationship” at some point.
Which is funny because Alex and I actually watched Alphaville on our third date. (Furthermore, dear Pajiba: film students are capable of love too. Also, hygiene.)
She’s Either a Complete Wack Job or The Woman of Your Dreams: Annie Hall.
Or both! I am pretty sure I made Alex watch Annie Hall on our next date.
Pajiba ends by recommending Almost Famous as the ultimate Third Date movie, and are also favourable to the better Jon Cusacks. Now, the thing is, and maybe boys don’t know this, but there are two kinds of girls: the kind that love the Cusack and think that tape deck thing is the Most. Romantic. Ever. and the kind who thinks that any guy who’s that into kickboxing is an automatic write-off and find the whole thing kind of creepy.
I don’t really have a point for all this, except to say that on St. Patrick’s day, instead of spending the day getting drunk, like a good Irishman (which I partially am), I went to check out the new Urban Outfitters (Vancouver finally can buy overpriced t-shirts!), which was the usual mix of really cute, too expensive, and “so ridiculous I feel vaguely embarrassed to be shopping here.” Then I bought some pants on sale at Banana Republic and we ambled over to the Cinematheque to see my new favourite movie, Rivette’s classic Celine and Julie Go Boating. (Dudes, it is like someone took all the angst out of Being John Malkovich, by which I mean Charlie Kaufman must have seen this movie 100 times, and added some pyscho-drama angst, to get treated as the most original screenwriter evar.)
So to review, Alex and I spent St. Paddy’s seeing a three-hour French movie.
Tonight we are catching the one Rivette made with lady pirates. I don’t think there is any movie I could want to see more. (Edit: We are not doing that! Because it is on Thursday! When we will in fact go. I am dumb.)
1 You know which one. I was totally spoiled by the time I saw it like two weeks ago, but I am still not over it. I am so invested in this show, I can’t even talk about it.
2 Not you! It never works for people I already like. It only works for strangers on whom I can make snap judgements. (They are probably actually nice people, but I am High Fidelity in gender reverse, with movies, so there.)