Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: MONDAY, January 23, 1995 TAG: 9501240035
SECTION: EDITORIAL PAGE: A-5 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: MONTY S. LEITCH
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
LAST WEEK, I took the afternoon off to see the movie "Legends of the Fall."
You will recall that this is the lush, adventurous saga starring many lusty men, many gleaming horses, many many snow-capped mountaintops, and one self-destructive bitc ... Oh, excuse me. Also featuring Julia Ormond and her hair.
The primary star is beautiful young Brad Pitt. He and his wide, sensuous mouth. His very white teeth. His scruffy square jaw. His glower. His pects. His hair.
But never fear, girls. If, as it happens, you like your meat a little less rare, there's someone for you there, too. Aidan Quinn, for those among you who like a little sensitive intellect with your pout. Henry Thomas, for those who like to bring their mothering instincts to bear. And Anthony Hopkins, chewing the scenery (and, through part of the film, the inside of his own mouth) for the more mature girls in the crowd.
``Yes, Monty,'' I hear you ask, ``but what did you really think?''
Well, this is a movie for girls. The four behind me loved it. I mean, they absolutely adored it. They sobbed in all the expected places. I could hear them quiver and gasp with each one of Pitt's many emotional crises.
And I suppose the world does need movies for girls.
But I had to keep stuffing my fist in my mouth to keep from laughing out loud.
When I was about 12 years old, I tried watching a movie once - just once - with my mother and aunt. We sat in my grandmother's darkened TV room, staring at her brand new TV. The fact that it was new - and color - is probably why we were watching. The movie was in Technicolor.
And, oh, it was beautiful!
It was set on some obscure, romantic South Pacific island; and the plot concerned a beautiful, hapless virgin who was being forced to step into a live volcano to save her people.
She was willing to go, of course, being royalty and bred to the role. But it was terrible for her. For, you see, she'd fallen into deeply passionate (and apparently chaste) love with a shipwrecked American soldier. And nothing he could say or do could alter her plight.
Where was there rescue for them? Where surcease for their sorrow? It was a tragedy!
I sobbed. I gasped. I wanted to wail, my heart was breaking so.
While my mother and aunt were laughing their fool heads off.
I don't think I've ever been quite so angry in my life. Couldn't they see the heartbreak of the situation? Couldn't they feel the anguish and the drama?
Couldn't they, at the very least, shut their yaps?
Well, of course, they couldn't. They had some taste. But I missed the movie's dramatic conclusion because I got so mad at them I fled to another room. (I doubt that virgin really had to jump.)
Anyway, that's why I kept stuffing my fist in my mouth while Brad Pitt swashbuckled and strutted. All the paying customers, with or without taste, had a right to see the movie's conclusion. (Ridiculous as it was.)
Besides, I'd already attracted a number of dirty looks when I'd guffawed at a ``Preview of Coming Attractions.''
Guess who's playing Lancelot in an upcoming film to Sean Connery's King Arthur?
Richard Gere.
Now, tell me that's not funny.
Monty S. Leitch is a Roanoke Times & World-News columnist.
by CNB