Showing posts with label movies. Show all posts
Showing posts with label movies. Show all posts

Monday, November 15, 2021

The Battle of the Cleft Chins

 

While that could have been the name of this 1947 film, it was actually called Out of the Past. Kirk Douglas and Robert Mitchum--advantage Mitchum, methinks... 

Thursday, December 7, 2017

Umm...Okaayyy...

 Anyone who knows me knows that I LOVE old movies--I will watch any 1930s or 1940s movie (except for Westerns, yuck). And Rosalind Russell is one of my faves. This is from Man-Proof (1938), which also starred Myrna Loy, Franchot Tone, and Walter Pidgeon.

But I have to ask: WHAT is with this wedding outfit?! Seriously...did any normal person EVER wear such a get-up in real life?
She looks like an alien nun! And I'm not the only one who thinks this is totally over the top...this blog post agrees!

Poor Roz...

Tuesday, March 7, 2017

Nonpareil







They make me ridiculously happy...

(This is from Top Hat, BTW.)

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

Bright Star

Check out the star shape in the middle of this flower. The title of this post also refers to the film Bright Star, which I just watched--it's about the love between John Keats and Fanny Brawne; unfortunately, as you probably know, Keats died at age 25 of tuberculosis. They couldn't marry because he was basically penniless and she had no dowry; he died thinking himself to be a failure as a poet. The film has lots of shots of the breathtaking English countryside, as well as lovely clothes (I adore women's dresses during that time period, which is around the same time Jane Austen was writing).

Here is Keats's sonnet "Bright Star":

Bright star! would I were steadfast as thou art—
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night,
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like Nature’s patient sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth’s human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors—
No—yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow’d upon my fair love’s ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever—or else swoon to death.