Star Wars: Ms. Fisher Awakens

After too many decades of way too many Christmas gifts, my family finally started a "Secret Santa" tradition a few years ago. At first, it was just the grownups; my daughter who was probably a tween when we started and my niece who is ten years younger were exempt. They still raked in truckloads of toys. 

The rest of us agreed to a more sober approach, drawing names at Thanksgiving and then purchasing one, fairly modest gift for the person we've chosen. Nice and civilized. This year, my mother pulled my name and gave me a soft infinity scarf (from Ann Taylor Loft), which my daughter is already coveting.

But, I wrangled another gift as well.

My younger brother, aghast upon learning that I had not yet seen Star Wars: The Force Awakens, treated me to a matinee. And not just any matinee. The theatre, on 42nd street just west of Times Square, boasted a food court rather than a lowly concession stand, enormous reclining seats, and a sound system so advanced that said reclining seats shook all through the previews. I could only imagine what would happen once we boarded the Millennium Falcon.

I saw the first Star Wars the year it came out (more than once). I was 15 and loved it, particularly moody young Luke Skywalker (as the second and third movies came out — and I grew up a little — my allegiance switched to roguish Han Solo). At any rate, my holiday invitation to the new installment included one for my own teen daughter. Alas, after Harry Potter, Twilight, Hunger Games and Divergent, Star Wars was a bit too old school for her. (Plus, she was in NYC for just a few days and wanted to enjoy it. She ended up going downtown with her dad.)

The movie was really quite wonderful. ("Awesome" is actually the first word that comes to mind.) My niece was kind enough to show me how to work the space-age seat, and with some gentle if persistent reminders from my sister-in-law didn't give anything away. Not to worry ... I won't either.

Of course, one of the best things about the new Star Wars is the reunion of the cast members of the old Star Wars. Carrie Fisher, Mark Hamill and Harrison Ford are all in attendance, and appear to have enjoyed the experience immensely. But, let's do a little math. The first film was made in 1977. That's 38 years ago. 

Do you look like you did 38 years ago? 'Didn't think so.

Should we expect actors — and, more particularly actresses, since they're the ones under fire — to stay young and slim, gravity-defying and ageless? Apparently, there are thousands of trolls on the Internet who think we should.

It's ridiculous. Of the movie's three stars, I would argue that Fisher looks the best. Then again, Hamill and Ford aren't being unfavorably, and unfairly, compared to 20-year old versions of themselves in gold bikinis. And, while much has been made about Fisher's 35-pound weight loss for the role, there's been very little press about the 50 pounds Hamill had to lose.

So, once The Force Awakens actually awakened (after the most hype Hollywood has ever generated and exponentially record-breaking presales), the Web pretty much exploded with mean-spirited criticism about her looks and whether or not (they were quite vocal about the "not") she had "aged well."

"YOU DIDN'T AGE WELL AND YOU SUCKED IN STAR WARS. IT WAS A  REST HOME PIC." 

Critics and TV personalities participated in the bashing too. John O'Reilly on Fox stumbled through an attempted Fisher diss after alluding to a major spoiler: "But it comes out worse for our friend Carrie Fisher, Princess Leia, because she doesn't look like Princess Leia."

Um. Maybe because she's General Leia now. Did ya see the movie, John?  

When Fisher responded, she was greeted with more abuse. 

"Showbiz is optional ... fame and age come with it ... don't agree Carrie? Give all the money back."

"So you want the money & adulation that comes with being a famous actor but not the criticism. Whoever told you life was fair?"

But, if there's anything to be learned from this, it's not to match wits with Carrie Fisher. She will win.

"Please stop debating about whether OR not I aged well. Unfortunately it hurts all 3 of my feelings. My BODY hasn't aged as well as I have."

And, even more thoughtfully ...
 
"Youth and beauty are not accomplishments, they're the temporary happy by-products of time and/or DNA. Don't hold your breath for either."

You tell 'em, Princess ... er ... I mean General! 

And, one more thing. I'm five years younger than Fisher, and I won't be getting into a gold bikini any time soon. 

So, don't hold your breath for that either.

If you've enjoyed this post, I invite you to order the book Lovin' the Alien here.  

Pass the Popcorn: The Hunger Games: Catching Fire

Let me start this post by quoting my teenage daughter.

"Hunger Games: Catching Fire. I'm speechless."

She did find her voice a moment later, though, and declared it "Frrrrrrrrrrrrkin' brilliant."

My daughter, like teens everywhere from what I'm told, is a rather impatient young person. So, when The Hunger Games: Catching Fire opened last week, she had to see it right away. Right! Away!

However ... my daughter, like teens everywhere, is also not very skilled at planning ahead. So, while it was never a question that she would see Catching Fire on its opening day (if not a sneak preview screening the night before), it became very much a question when our town's tiny cinema was sold out. Sold! Out!

Enter her dear mamma, a.k.a. the enabler. I found seats at a larger multiplex a few towns away. Word spread and I was suddenly putting several tickets on my American Express. The initial plan was that we would drive the eager fans to the theatre, then have a nice dinner somewhere. Another parent was slated to pick them up.

The odds were never in our favor.

Turned out there were too many teens (and not enough seatbelts). Only one adult would be able to go. It also turned out that the game plan had changed. We were now on call for pick-up, not drop-off. My husband marched around in self-righteous indignation, and then settled in for a casual dinner and some DVR catch-up before heading off to retrieve the moviegoers at 10:00 pm. (Father of the Year Award, anyone?)

I was already half asleep when my family returned, but I heard all about the film the next day. In fact, in an act of extremely effective manipulation, my daughter coerced me into buying another round of tickets, this time for the two of us. "I can't wait for you to see it," she cooed. "You're going to lo-o-o-o-ove it." We'd seen the first Hunger Games together, and she didn't hesitate to play the 'it's our tradition, Mom' card. Was I fooled by her sudden interest in my happiness? Of course not. Did I buy the tickets? Of course.

We were supposed to see this wonder of modern moviemaking Sunday night. Imagine my surprise when she came to me Friday with another request. A different set of friends were going that evening. Could she go? Oh, and by the way, could I put the tickets on my charge card? As per usual, I was the best mother in the world ... for about twenty minutes.

To give credit where credit is due, when it finally was my turn to see Hunger Games: Catching Fire, I had to agree that it is an excellent movie. Jennifer Lawrence is the real deal — a fine actress, an apparently down-to-Earth young woman, and the star of a gazillion dollar Hollywood franchise. The movie was exciting and surprisingly well-written. I actually enjoyed it. My daughter, round three, was (again) enthralled. 

The thing is, I remember being so completely obsessed with movies. I saw the Who's Tommy several times when it came out (I won't say when), and my theatre friends and I went to the midnight showing of Rocky Horror every single Saturday for over a year. Who am I to throw stones? (Rice, maybe, playing cards, maybe, but not stones.)

When it comes to my daughter getting what she wants from me, the odds are always in her favor.

If you enjoyed this post, order a copy of my new book Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.

Pass the Popcorn: Admission

Last Sunday morning, as per usual (okay, as per always), my teenage daughter went to the stable to ride her horse. (As is my chauffeurial way, I headed to Dunkin' Donuts for a decaf hazelnut coffee and their complimentary WiFi.) When she was finished, we drove to nearby Salem for a nice lunch with her dad. 

From there, we would go to a local cineplex to see a matinee of the new Tina Fey movie, Admission.

We had just sat down when my daughter announced that she had better not go to the movie after all, because she still had homework.

This was news to me.

It boggles my mind that, despite a seemingly endless series of "Have you done your homework?" "Do you need to study?" "Are you sure you don't have anything else due tomorrow?", all of which are met with shrugs and blank stares, my daughter suddenly remembers these things. But, she does. Suddenly. All the time.

So, I sat there staring at my caesar salad with poached salmon and considered my options. First of all, I was more than a little bit pissed. The riding was her thing. The movie was mine. This was supposed to be our nice mother-daughter afternoon together. We would split a large popcorn and sneak in some candy. Yes, I was a little pissed ... and a lot of disappointed.

But, of course, schoolwork has to come first! Isn't that what we're always preaching? Really, what kind of mother would I be if I let — nay, encouraged — my young scholar to neglect her studies for a romantic comedy? And, now that we're in high school (yes, that would be the collective we), every assignment carries an enormous burden. The grade you get on the homework will affect the grade you get in the course that affects the average you get for the year that affects the GPA you get after four years that directly affects the colleges you get into which affects the potential of living happily ever after FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE!!!

How ironic if my daughter lost her chance to go to a Harvard or a Yale because we played hooky to watch a movie about getting into a Princeton. 

Meanwhile, I couldn't timeshift the trip to the movie theatre because I was scheduled to interview Admission's novelist for Women's Voices for Change the next day. So, the only option was to go by myself.

My irritation soon wore off. There are worse ways to spend an afternoon than being alone in a movie theatre. In fact, there are benefits. I like to sit in the second or third row, dead center. I'm happiest when the movie screen completely fills my field of vision. When I'm part of a group, I usually have to compromise and sit farther back.

The movie was really enjoyable. Tina Fey, always smart and funny, was ... well, smart and funny. Paul Rudd was immensely likable as her "will they or won't they?" love interest. And Lily Tomlin pretty much stole the show as her louder-than-life feminist mother. The script was clever with just enough twists and turns. I went in a big fan of the book, but there were some major changes to the story that kept me engaged.

Besides the girl-meets-boy and long-lost-child plot lines that are front and center in the trailer (no spoilers here, thank you very much), what really fascinated me was the insider's perspective on college admissions. Oy vey! If the adopted, minority, published author, champion chess player, third-generation legacy, flutist with the 4.9 GPA is only on the wait list, what hope is left for our mere mortal children? It was discouraging to say the least. But also, somehow, liberating. There's no way to compete. As the film encourages more than once ... "What's the secret? Be yourself."

My daughter is very very (very very) good at that!

So, at the end of the day, yes, I was glad that my daughter went home and did her work. And, I was glad I saw Admission. And, guess what?

I got a large popcorn anyway. And, I was glad.

Pass the Popcorn: Beasts of the Southern Wild

When I was a kid, my family went to movies together all the time. We stayed mostly on Manhattan's upper westside (which was nowhere near as chic and expensive as it is today). We went to theatres that aren't there anymore: Cinema Studios, the Embassy, the Regency and Loews 83rd. Actually, Loews 83rd is still there but it's now AMC 84th. Huh?

The times they are a'changin'.

Anyway, my husband, teen daughter and I very rarely go to the movies. My husband's not really a movie guy and my daughter is far too busy with her horses and her friends and her horses and her schoolwork and her horses. (Did I mention her horses?) So I was very excited when they both expressed interest in seeing Beasts of the Southern Wild.

A number of people had asked if I'd seen "that New Orleans movie." The movie is not, however, set in NOLA. It takes place in a bayou that time has forgotten, called "the Bathtub." An enormous levee separates the Bathtub from civilization, and when a storm comes (we can assume it's Katrina, but it's never really specified), that levee protects the rest of the world, while the Bathtub disappears under flood waters.

The heroine is a little girl nicknamed Hushpuppy. She lives with her alcoholic daddy, a fat pig and some chickens in a trailer built on stilts. Together, they fish from an ark made out of a derelict pickup truck bed. Life in the Bathtub is harsh but joyous at the same time. They live in such squalor that it's hard to believe the story takes place in this country. And yet, they feast on crabs and crawfish, drink to excess and celebrate their own version of a back country Mardi Gras all the time.

Despite what appears to be a rather spotty education, Hushpuppy is a deep thinker. She is keenly aware of her place in the universe. When she closes her eyes, she can see all of nature and she speaks as an underage conservationist. 

"The whole universe depends on everything fitting together just right. If one piece busts, even the smallest piece, the entire universe will get busted."

After the flood, Hushpuppy, her father and a ragtag group of survivors band together to try and save the Bathtub. They are "rescued" and brought to a relief station, but they stage an escape and return to the Bathtub. Realizing that her father is very ill, Hushpuppy sets off with a handful of orphaned girls to try and find her mother. Their journey takes them to a paddleboat cathouse where they find mother-love in the arms of prostitutes and holy communion in a supper of fried alligator. After staring down the dreaded aurochs (prehistoric beasts brought back to life because the arctic circle is melting), Hushpuppy brings some of the sacred gator back to her dying father before sending him off to his next life.

If this all sounds rather mythic, it absolutely is. Hushpuppy's story is very much a hero's adventure; she is a tiny little Odysseus, facing obstacles along her way, but determined to get home.

The movie was extraordinary. Every actor, from Dwight Henry as the father to Gina Montana as the teacher to tiny little Quvenzhané Wallis as Hushpuppy, was just fantastic. In terms of evoking a time and place, you could practically smell and taste the Bathtub as well as see it.

Watching Beasts of the Southern Wild was thought-provoking for us. As a comfortable, well-fed, fully-clothed family, we were struck by how little Hushpuppy had and how little she needed. It was particularly interesting to watch the scenes in the relief station. While doctors tried to address her father's dire condition, someone had cleaned Hushpuppy up, put her in a tidy dress, and combed her hair (no mean feat, be assured). On the one hand, we thought she was better off. On the other hand, we cheered for her when her daddy "busted her out" and they returned to the Bathtub.

As we drove home, stopping for some fried fish and chips along the way. My husband, daughter and I compared notes. I definitely liked Beasts of the Southern Wild more than they did. I think they thought it was a little too weird. I thought it was weird too.

Weird in a most wonderful way.

Pass the Popcorn: Dark Shadows

As my tween daughter grows older, it gets harder and harder to find things we enjoy together. She's often willing to go to the mall, but I get the distinct feeling that I am more of a checkbook than a cherished companion. Similarly, while she welcomes rides to and from stables and equestrian events, it is in my capacity as chauffeur that I am most appreciated. It isn't as though we spend the driving time in meaningful conversation. After all, that would mean looking up from her iPhone. 


So, a new movie with a good friend and her mom sounded promising — in concept anyway. Between end-of-year dances and talent shows, sleepovers and final exams, it was more difficult to coordinate than we expected. Finally, we agreed to an early evening showing at a local independent cinema. 


The girls were there to see Dark Shadows. I was there to see ... Johnny Depp.


My husband is amused if somewhat perplexed by my adulation of the aforementioned movie star. Despite a series of rather disappointing recent movies (both Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and Alice in Wonderland, as well as all the Pirates of the Caribbean sequels come to mind), I can always carve out some time to spend with my man Johnny. I relished his portrayal of the demon barber in Sweeney Todd. In fact, I enjoy his theatricality in general. But, I think my favorite roles were his kinder, gentler ones. The gypsy lover in Chocolat (ooh la la!) and the soft-spoken Sir James Barrie in Finding Neverland.


We all have our weaknesses, and Johnny Depp may as well be mine. He's less expensive than Jimmy Choo's and less fattening than Ben & Jerry's.


The girls, being fourteen and acutely aware of looking and feeling independent, took their popcorn, M&Ms and sodas, and found seats apart from ours. Of course, since the movie has already been out a few weeks (and, unfortunately for the divine Mr. Depp, is something less than a blockbuster at this point), we were pretty much the only people in the theatre. Nevertheless, the two moms settled ourselves a discreet distance from our daughters.


If you haven't seen the trailer for Dark Shadows yet, I highly recommend it. If you haven't seen the movie itself yet, I suggest watching the trailer twice.


Just kidding.


Truly though, the trailer includes the movie's best and funniest jokes, snippets of its hilariously groovy soundtrack, and a nice, fast-paced summary of the action. "Well done, movie trailer people!"


Don't get me wrong, I'm not panning the movie completely. Over-the-top actors in over-the-top costumes on an over-the-top set with over-the-top special effects. If you buy into the weird and wacky world of Tim Burton, you could do much worse than sit back and enjoy the ride. And, in honesty, that's pretty much what Dark Shadows feels like. An amusement park ride. (Actually, I'm surprised no one has built a Burtonland yet. How cool would that be!) 


Aspects of the new movie are a lot of fun. In particular, my companion and I got a chuckle out of the music, which includes several deliciously dated hits from the early 70s. Cartoonish or not, Johnny Depp's vampiric dandy Barnabas Collins is a hoot. Eva Green as his nemesis/lover, the witch turned fishing mogul Angelique, is fairly flawless. Helena Bonham Carter in a rather obtuse role is funnier than I expected. There's an excellent supporting cast. And, Michelle Pfeiffer must have sold her soul to Beetlejuice himself because the woman simply isn't aging as a mere mortal should.


Nevertheless, between Mel Brooks' Young Frankenstein, Love at First Bite and the original Addams Family movie (with another of my cinematic heartthrobs, the late great Raul Julia), I felt like I'd "been there, done that." It was a clever spoof and an enjoyable way to spend a couple of hours. Not much else.


Although, there may be more here for mothers than meets the eye. I have to say that Dark Shadows offers an interesting (and particularly fanged and furry) explanation for the general moodiness of the Collins family's teen daughter. And, it was very gratifying to watch the scenes between her and Barnabas.


She sneers, "Are you stoned or something?" 


"They tried stoning me, my dear," he answers. "It did not work."


If only I could be so blissfully oblivious to sarcasm.

Pass the Popcorn: The Hunger Games

Like any self-respecting eighth grader, my daughter saw The Hunger Games on the weekend it opened. Not once, but twice. First, she saw it with two friends from school. The next day, she saw it with a different friend and that girl's family. She came home beaming. 

"I can't wait for you to see it, Mom! You're gonna love it." However, in reality, she could wait for me to see it. In fact, I was forbidden to see it until I had finished the books.

Was I already in the middle of a different book? Yes. Was my workload insane? Yes. Did I have other things to do? Yes, yes, yes. But, I was heartened by the fact that my daughter recognized the value of reading prior to viewing. So, I borrowed my husband's Kindle and read all three books in the course of a few days. Trust me, that is not as grand an accomplishment as one might think. They are extremely quick reads and every chapter ends with a cliffhanger. With my task complete, we decided to hit the multiplex after my daughter finished at the stable Sunday afternoon.

I was looking forward to our movie date. I loved the fact that we were going to see an action adventure movie starring a female protagonist. With all the blood and guts and gore I had just read, this promised to be no typical "chick flick." And, the chick in point, one Katniss Everdeen in case you've been living under a rock, is played by a remarkable young actress who had wowed me a couple of years ago in Winter's Bone, Jennifer Lawrence. 

Most of all, I was looking forward to spending time with my favorite person.

We ran a couple of errands and had a quick lunch at Panera, just ordering soups so that we would have plenty of room for a giant popcorn in the theatre. Once inside, we found great seats and plenty of room to spread out; surprisingly, there weren't a ton of people. When I commented on this, my daughter rolled her eyes: "Duh, it's already been out for a month!" A month, mind you, is a very long time when one is fourteen.

There were too many ads, too many previews (this from a woman who loves previews) and too many service messages about turning off our cell phones. But, finally, it was time for ...

The Hunger Games! ("May the odds be ever in your favor.")

You know, the movie really was good. If I had been in there in my capacity as a cultural journalist writing a thoughtful piece of film criticism, I might complain about the herky-jerky handheld camera work. Or, the confusion of some key fight scenes. Or, the near absence of any subtlety or nuance whatsoever.

But, I was there to have fun with my daughter. The action was non-stop. The sets and costumes and special effects, top-notch. The villains from the Capitol were as superficial and selfish as I had pictured them. Katniss was as brave and good. Her rival boyfriends, Peeta and Gale, were true and just handsome enough to turn the target audience's heads. (There's an ongoing online debate amongst the teen girl set right now. "Are you Team Peeta or Team Gale?" And, in a rather clever if slightly naughty compound word, if you are rooting for Peeta's romance with Katniss then you are "Pro Peeniss." Ugh.) 

For me, Woody Harrelson practically stole the show as a boozy misanthropic former champion and current mentor to the star-crossed Tributes from District Twelve. It was all just fun!

Until it wasn't. Twenty minutes before the end of the movie, the screen went black; the soundtrack stopped a moment later. A few patrons left their seats to go and get the theatre management. The rest of us sat in what would have been the dark except that everyone had whipped out their cell phones about a nanosecond after the projector malfunction. It was eery seeing individual faces illuminated by cell phone screens. 

"WTF," I thought. "You can't wait five minutes to see if the movie comes back on?" And, in case you were wondering, this was a group of adults not teenagers. (After all, every teenager in the area had already seen the movie about a month ago.)

A woman from the theatre came in and explained that they were fixing the projector. She apologized and handed out free passes (two per person!) for a future movie. After about a ten-minute delay, the movie started again. My daughter and I were psyched! Four free tickets and we still got to see the end of the movie.

Katniss and Peeta were trapped on top of the Cornucopia with the vicious "Career" Tribute from District Two, Cato, and a bloodthirsty "muttation" dog pack below them when ... the unthinkable happened. The movie stopped. Again. OMG!!!

This time, they couldn't get the projector fixed. So they passed out another free pass for each of us and we went out into the bright lights of the lobby. There was another showing down the hall, and we could have sneaked in. But, it had just started and despite my (genuine) disappointment in missing the last five minutes, I really couldn't sit through the whole thing again. There was homework and laundry and dinner waiting for us, so we reluctantly left.

Technology to the rescue! As soon as we got home, my daughter booted up her laptop, Googled "Hunger Games Last Ten Minutes," and found a bootlegged clip on YouTube. For the record, I am not one to condone online copyright infringement. But, I was willing to make an exception. The last few minutes of the movie were exciting despite the tiny screen, and the less than professional video quality. Katniss and Peeta returned to District Twelve and the sinister President Snow plotted his next move.

Net net: we now have six free movie passes, we had a wonderful afternoon together and (thank you, nameless YouTube pirate) we got to see the happy (well, happy until movie two is released) ending.

The odds were most definitely ever in our favor.

Pass the Popcorn: Mirror Mirror

Quick! Call Social Services! I let my tween daughter play hooky not one, but two days this week.

Several factors led to this unorthodox parental decision. First of all, my daughter is never sick. She's only been absent once this year (well, three times now, I guess). She just received her third quarter report card, which was pretty stellar (clearly, she took that "If your grades drop, we sell the horse!" ultimatum seriously). Plus, we usually go away for spring break and we always fly the day before school vacation officially begins in order to avoid sky-high fares. So, pulling her out a day or even two early is par for the course.

But, most importantly, I let her ditch (what a colorful bit of slang) because one of her beloved camp friends who lives — a shocking — four states away was visiting Boston with her family. This was far too important to miss because of something as silly as middle school.

So, we arranged for a no-holds-barred reunion: cross-country riding, a late lunch at one of my daughter's favorite Mexican joints, a DVD with lots of less-than-nutritious-snacks, and a sleepover complete with extended hours and time limits on the computer, and a late-night hot tub. The girls had a ball.

At about 10 pm, my husband and I put the fan on in our room to drown out the giggling and left them to their own devices.

All awesome things must come to an end, and indeed the friend's parents showed up late the next morning to collect their overtired tween and drive home. We gave them a quick tour of our historic seaside town and the girls parted, not quite tearfully but with great and mutual affection.

We had lunch and I went back up to my office to work. A couple of hours later, I went down for a coffee (okay, allegedly for a coffee; I confess, I was checking on her). My daughter was half-heartedly watching TV while playing a game on her phone. It occurred to me that this would not be a particularly positive way to start spring break. Since we aren't going away, and since she can't spend every single minute at the stable (believe me, she would if she could), I was worried that we would fall into an abyss of endless "screen time."

"Let's go to the movies this afternoon!" I suggested. A quick call and we were able to enlist the company of one of her BFFs, provided that my husband watch her little brother until their mom got home. (He gamely agreed — in fact, they played chess. How cool is that!?!)

Now technically, I know, a movie is also a form of "screen time." But it's somehow different. You (actively) decide to (actively) go to the movie theatre. In our case, you actually have to drive about 10 miles to the nearest multiplex. The lights dim, the screen is enormous; you have to focus. You can't multitask without inducing the anger of fellow patrons, theatre management and/or those animated characters that show up between the previews and the film you're seeing. "I am the Lorax and I speak for the audience. Be courteous. Turn off your cell phone."

The movie I suggested was Mirror Mirror. Despite some 20 screens, there weren't many other choices. My daughter's already seen The Hunger Games (twice) and I'm forbidden to until I've read the books. Most of the other options appeared to be based on superhero comic books or of the Don't Look Now, You're in the House on Haunted Hill Where Blood Runs Through Every Room variety.

At any rate, I thought a "fractured fairy tale" would be fun. Julia Roberts, after decades of playing America's sweetheart, promised to be over-the-top evil as the queen. And, Lily Collins (whom I can't help but think of as the daughter of Phil, being a product of the 80s myself), seemed enchanting. The handsome twins from The Social Network, a.k.a. solo actor Armie Hammer, played the prince. And, Broadway divo Nathan Lane, who can do no wrong in my book, is the queen's bumbling henchman.

The movie is gorgeous to look at, and there are some clever twists to the familiar story. For example, the evil queen wants to marry the prince.

"We're roughly the same age," she smoothly assures him.

"The same age?" he sputters.

"I said roughly."

Unfortunately, though, the film could have been considerably shorter. At various points, scenes that should have been frightening were played for laughs. But, I did enjoy the reversals. Snow White, as you might expects, stumbles upon a hideout of "giant dwarves" when she runs way from her wicked stepmother. But, she doesn't merely keep house for them. She becomes part of their band of thieves, showing off some pretty fancy swordplay and sporting a kickass Alpine pirate wench ensemble. Go Snow!

After a happy ending, three popcorns, a blue raspberry Slushie and a Diet Coke, we were fairly satiated. On the ride home, we debriefed on favorite scenes. Then, something struck my daughter and her friend and they laughed hysterically for at least ten minutes. I tried my best to figure out what was so funny. To get it. To maybe chuckle a little myself. But, eventually, I gave up.

As the evil queen warned Snow White, "It's important to know when you've been beaten."