Midnight in Paris was dreamy and lovely. Or was Paris just dreamy and lovely? In any case, I walked out of the theater humming the tune from the credits and giddily strolling back to reality and home.
To set the scene, I saw the movie in my sister's friendly neighborhood theater in Westmoreland. It was built in 1926 and still only has one screen and boasts original artwork and moldings inside. I was actually sort of charmed by the tad bit of shaking up on the big screen from the film roll camera and the non-surround sound, as well as the old school bucket seats with no cup holders. Plus, plus, it was only $5 for the ticket and $3.25 for soda and popcorn. What era am I in?! It was all just so quaint and cozy and made me feel so warm inside. :) The experience reminded me of my hometown's old State Theatre. Double features were quite the thing to do during the hot, summer afternoons in my elementary school years!
Neighborhood theater in Westmoreland
Drawing of Red Bluff's State Theatre for rebuild in 1946
Current State Theatre, used for plays and special events
Owen Wilson's character yearns to travel back to 1920's Paris, and mysteriously, he does. Picasso, Stein, Hemingway and many others visit him during his magical and unexplained journeys back in time at the stroke of midnight whilst he meanders and loses himself in the city's side streets. For Wilson, the golden age of creativity and romance is early 20th century Paris, in which he dreams of living the life of a novelist in the boom and bustle of aspiring artists.
To me, Paris is all things romantic and dreamy and je ne sais pas. C'est tout. But are dreams always a reality? Whenever I am visiting Paris I always revert to the notion of wishing to live in a 16th century building with fanciful fireplaces in every room and minute balconies that look over the busy street below. At night, on a whim, I'd step out the front door to the sidewalk and stroll along the cobble-stoned road until I came to my favorite cafe to sip a cup of earl grey tea with bergemot and dip some madeleines. Wouldn't it be wonderful to walk, always looking up to the sky, to admire the architectural details of each window and balcony? To enjoy fondue on a chilly night and a picnic in the gardens on a sunny afternoon? However, I don't believe Paris would be such a whimsical place had I lived there for a time. There would be no sense of the 'perfect' evening or afternoon. Ever so rarely I think dreams are better off remaining far-fetched fantasies because the magical feelings are kept alive in your imagination and the process of creating the perfect dream. And being a Parisian is mine.
Bisous
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