Distant replay

One might think that after 25 hours of Marvel movies in a week, I would postpone my next film for a while, but no. And as I’ve pointed out before, that’s really not much watching on a per-day basis. Millions of people watch more television every day than that.

But that was a specific act with a specific purpose. Which is what happened on the plane flight to Texas. A specific act, a freebie film, completely forgettable and unremarkable. Just right.

This was “Book Club,” by the way, featuring four older women who retain fame (and talent) but don’t really see the roles waiting. Now, in this era of cheap and plentiful entertainment, they get work, even if it’s in this dumb comedy that tries to sex things up a bit and fails pretty miserably.

But last night I watched Call Me By Your Name, my daughter’s least scary suggestion (I dislike horror, although I miss great stuff apparently).

It’s a beautiful film to watch, sun-drenched and summery, set in Italy in 1983. You can Google the rest if you don’t know.

And since Beth has now apparently developed a sensitivity to something in Thai food and had what looked like a mild anaphylactic reaction, handled by Benadryl but wiping her out, I saw most of it alone.

Sex played a big role in this, too, although only as a natural extension of a story about young love and its curious and painful ways.

It’s sort of a weird issue for me, sex in the movies. I tend to avert my eyes these days, although beautiful bodies are still beautiful and I have no prudishness I can identify.

It’s just that it feels inappropriate to be looking at a 20-something’s butt. I’ve aged out of something, it seems.

I’m also fairly certain I wouldn’t be thrilled at seeing a 70-something’s butt either. Maybe there’s a middle ground but now I’m way off topic.

My point is, it was a lovely film, and actually the sex parts were mostly offscreen (read parts any way you want, same thing). It was poignant, and real. And sweet, truly.

And distant. Young love is far away now, something to glimpse in the rearview mirror and remember, if barely. It was nice to be reminded in such a beautiful way, but I could relate about as well to Iron Man. Whose butt I’ve never noticed. As is appropriate, again.

Chuck Sigars