As it's Christmas, I'll spare you a rant about stuffing your piggy face with any old sentimental turd that characterises love as some profound lightening strike or tells you that there is only one person who is truly for you. I'll save you from tirades about the insidious affirmation of the Anglo-American 'special relationship', or the achy, X-Factor-styled drone of the sexualised prepubescent, or the foppishness of nearly all the male characters. I'll even forgo pontificating about the revolting ooze of middle-class, consumerist fantasy that seeps out of every pore of the film or the fact I keep thinking it stars Stephen Fry when it actually doesn't. I'll be nice and tell you a story instead.
A funny thing happened to me the other night. My wife's best friend called to the door and announced her undying love for me. It was, perhaps, the intricate, pre-meditated nature of the declaration that startled me the most. She boldly called over when my wife was at home, and cunningly played a CD of carol singers to deceive my wife, who was at the back of the house, into believing that nothing was going on. She then used a series of placards to explain what she was doing and how she was profoundly in love with me. I knew she was delusional from the beginning, as she told me that I was perfect. Nobody is perfect, and if you think you love someone because they are perfect, then you're wrong — you're in love with an idealised version of them, and any relationship with that person is likely to end in disillusionment and resentment for failing to live up to expectations. She then spoke without irony about her 'wasted heart', an act of melodrama that confirmed my suspicions about her psychosis. The severe discomfort I felt at her reckless audacity was compounded by her unmitigated adoration of me, which made me feel like an object rather than a person. As she began to slowly walk into the night, I was surprised to find myself chasing her down the street, staring deeply into her eyes, and giving her an encouraging peck on the lips. It was the least I could do for all her efforts (As it transpired, she had even edited together a worship video of me, made from clips from my wedding day). Well, I suppose I'll accept her, as she is gorgeous. It would be creepy otherwise, right?
A funny thing happened to me the other night. My wife's best friend called to the door and announced her undying love for me. It was, perhaps, the intricate, pre-meditated nature of the declaration that startled me the most. She boldly called over when my wife was at home, and cunningly played a CD of carol singers to deceive my wife, who was at the back of the house, into believing that nothing was going on. She then used a series of placards to explain what she was doing and how she was profoundly in love with me. I knew she was delusional from the beginning, as she told me that I was perfect. Nobody is perfect, and if you think you love someone because they are perfect, then you're wrong — you're in love with an idealised version of them, and any relationship with that person is likely to end in disillusionment and resentment for failing to live up to expectations. She then spoke without irony about her 'wasted heart', an act of melodrama that confirmed my suspicions about her psychosis. The severe discomfort I felt at her reckless audacity was compounded by her unmitigated adoration of me, which made me feel like an object rather than a person. As she began to slowly walk into the night, I was surprised to find myself chasing her down the street, staring deeply into her eyes, and giving her an encouraging peck on the lips. It was the least I could do for all her efforts (As it transpired, she had even edited together a worship video of me, made from clips from my wedding day). Well, I suppose I'll accept her, as she is gorgeous. It would be creepy otherwise, right?
Lord Christ,
ReplyDeleteTurn the channel.
Love Actually is a horrible movie this time of year. Sad..so sad.