Saturday, April 30, 2011

The Royal Wedding Before and After

BEFORE


Sadly, mini-Betty Keira didn't realize that she would peak so early with her sartorial aspirations...

I don't remember watching the Royal Wedding--the first one when everything went so pear-shaped--but I vividly remember getting a new dress for my sister Debbie's 1980s wedding (I was five.).  She went with yellow and, though my mom must have worked her fingers into bloody nubbins for weeks before to outfit the entire family in yellow, I only recall that it appeared out of nowhere and was the prettiest dress I'd had before or since; light buttercup yellow, wide white sash, puffed sleeves, an elastic neckline (that I would sometimes pull off my shoulders to look even more awesome) and a deep ruffle-y flounce at the top.  I was gorgeous.  And I remember, as clear as day, checking my bad self out in a mirror and thinking that with my short, feathered hair I looked just like Princess Diana.  I couldn't have known then that she'd filch my dress...

Fast forward thirty years.

Am I watching the Royal Wedding?  I am so watching the Royal Wedding. (But why, Betty Keira?  Why?)
Can I summon up any nostalgia for the monarchy?  I. Can. Not.
King George III--the 'he' mentioned so many times in the Declaration of Independence, as in: "He has called together legislative bodies at places unusual, uncomfortable, and distant from the depository of their public Records, for the sole purpose of fatiguing them into compliance with his measures."
Am I an Anglophile?  Er, the tiny island produced Milton, Donne, Shakespeare, Betty Neels, the trench coat, the Magna Carta (which incidentally is part of a long list of incidents that created the largely defunct constitutional monarchy we see today--the monarchy part, not the constitutional part), William Wilberforce, English common law, the great-socking Bentley...So, yes.

But do I have no shame?!  Look.  I'm a proud small 'r' republican (in which the people, or some significant portion of them, retain supreme control over the government), and would have proudly carried pails of hot rifle shot to the beleaguered Patriots at Saratoga, Ticonderoga, Yorktown.  Heck, one of my ancestors was scalped by a 'dastardly Tory'!
Molly Pitcher, hero of the Revolution, looks dashing in a full length Betsy Ross number of crimson muslin and white cuffs...
But doesn't this imply that I have silly wish to be an actual princess?  Look.  Not really.  Anyway, no more than watching the NBA playoffs would give a man the idea that he could actually have a pro-level turn around jump shot.

Here's the beginning and end of it for me: Kate is a babe.  Wills has nice teeth.  And the fashion!  Great googly-bear!  The hats alone are worth the effort.

So I'll spend the day in a media black-out, fingers pressed over eyes and plunged into ears and watch it as civilized and sane people do...Dressed to the nines with a fascinator and gloves.  (Pictures to follow.)
AFTER
The media black-out was difficult.  Next time we do a brunch or something.

Well, how gorgeous was that bride?  Yes, very Princess Grace-y but just breathtaking.  (And sleeves!  Maybe this will make it easier for brides to find sleeves!)  For me, I really liked the heavily religious nature of the service--sort of the antithesis to being married by a hippie on the beach (regrets to any I may offend by that remark)--but the formality never eclipsed the nice family wedding.

It was such fun to get together with like-minded (read: hopelessly silly) ladies.  Betty Kylene made an unbelievably gorgeous hair accessory for the event... 
Mine (below) by contrast looks modest (and I still had to maneuver carefully into the car). 

And our hostess wore her wedding dress!  (And ladies, it was (after four children) swimming on her.  That was not the same problem I have...)

My SIL came with and discovered the wonderful world of fascinators for herself....
I hope we're all in agreement that this (below) was the worst crime of millinery we've ever beheld.

Friday, April 29, 2011

The Royal Wedding - let's not spoil it for Betty Keira.

Four words, dude. Hair Club for Men.
Probably every woman on the face of the planet with tv or internet access has seen (or will soon see) pictures and/or video of the royal wedding...

Kate was a lovely bride.
...except Betty Keira.

Betty Keira is going to a party tonight wherein she will be dressed to the nines and do all things British (I assume). I told her that I was going to start a post where the rest of the free Betty world can talk about such burning issues as the awesomeness of Kate's wedding dress and, well, whatever.  Betty Keira will be avoiding the comment thread until tomorrow (or tonight after her party). Feel free to share your thoughts and impressions!

Cinema Betty

The Fortunes of Francesca has a little to do with a 'Girl Friday':
His Girl Friday (1940)

Nothing with Rosalind Russell in it ever seems to date and you all know my unrequited passion for Cary Grant even when he, as in this, is playing a cad.  Hard-boiled newspaper reporting, hiding in a roll-top desk (the first time one of those was actually useful for something) and dialog that just zings along.  It goes slightly pear-shaped when I'm expected to swallow Earl Williams (the killer) character but the movie about a man on death row happens to have very little to do with it at all.

Here's a great take on the film while the reporter is supposed to be reviewing another film:
When the philosopher Stanley Cavell coined the term "comedy of remarriage" to name those classic screwball films in which a bickering couple must divorce before they can discover that they're actually made for each other, he didn't have in mind Cameron Diaz and Ashton Kutcher What Happens in Vegas (newly on DVD!) isn't just one of the worst films of 2008, it's an insult to its venerable tradition. Praise be then to His Girl Friday (1940), which screens tomorrow at BAMCinematek, as part of its awesome Howard Hawks series. Cary Grant is his usual unflappable self as a newspaper editor whose ex-wife and former ace reporter (Rosalind Russell) is in town with her new fiance, Ralph Bellamy (whom you kids probably know as Randolph Duke in Trading Places). From their very first scene together, when Russell asks Grant for a smoke and he casually tosses a cigarette at her (they then repeat the pattern with the matches) we can see what they see in each other—and in contrast to the idiotic characters played by Diaz and Kutcher, they're not just beer goggling.


The  movie I want to recommend for The Final Touch has nothing to do with the book unless the virtue of portraying one of the hottest Dutchmen in cinema is in the RDD ballpark:
The Spanish Main (1945)
Laurent Van Horn (Paul Henreid), captain of a Dutch ship, is forced to dock at a Spanish port to make repairs to his vessel but is imprisoned by Don Alvarado (Walter Slezak), the Spanish governor, and sentenced to hang for trespassing. While awaiting execution, Laurent meets other unfairly incarcerated prisoners and together they stage a jail breakout, escaping to safety. Five years later, Laurent has become "The Barracuda," an infamous pirate who plunders Spanish ships. When he learns that Francesca (Maureen O'Hara), Don Alvarado's bride-to-be, is arriving by boat from Mexico to be married, he sets a trap, abducting her and setting in motion his revenge for the governor's past mistreatment of him.  
 Honestly, doesn't that just make your eyeballs scorch?
Henreid was personally responsible for that change of pace. He came up with the story line in an attempt to change his image. "The search for challenging movies that would change my image as an actor finally made me decide to write out a quick treatment of an idea that had been simmering in my mind for a long time. I was getting tired of being cast as the suave ladies' man...so I started to think in terms of something that would be more fun, a swashbuckling part in a pirate film."
I adore Paul Henreid (even though he's Austrian and not Dutch at all).  You should totally try to check this out.

Thursday, April 28, 2011

The Final Touch - Discussion Thread

We're not saying goodbye to TUJD
yet...just a fond farewell to the herculean
task of writing reviews. 
Gosh, this is our very last official 'discussion thread'. Sniff.

The awful Cor van Kamp had even taken Charity to Brighton for the day (that should have tipped her off right there - if only she had been conversant with TUJD definition of 'Brighton' - she would have known what a cad he was. The book I reviewed last week also had a reference to the girl being taken to Brighton for the day with the cad (Loveday and Charles in The Doctor's Girl).  After fruitlessly cudgeling my brain (and then taking advantage of the search feature on our blog), I was able to find one reference to Brighton that actually features the hero taking the heroine to Brighton (A Kiss for Julie). We know that Simon is NOT a cad and does not have Brightonish designs on Julie because he also invites Julie's mum and little sister along as chaperones. Take-away? If you must go to Brighton before matrimony, take some reliable chaperones.


It's one of those movies that you
wish you liked...

To fill in her lonely hours, Charity goes to a lot of museums one of which is the History of Science Museum. That sounds much more interesting than, say, a History of Agriculture Museum (I'm imagining a display of Fertilizer Through The Ages) or a History of Typography Museum.  In a barely related way, I recently watched about half of the documentary film Helvetica.  Pardon me for saying so, but it was excruciating boring.  Even my daughter-in-law who is something of a font snob found it frustratingly lame...and unbearable slow. I would expect that a History of Science Museum would have enough variety of subjects to keep me entertained for a while - but then, I'm married to an engineer.

Letizia and Teile (10-year-olds) both have checkbooks.  That seems unnecessary to me.  I'm all for teaching children fiscal responsibility, but a checkbook for gradeschoolers? The current equivalent would be for a child to have their own debit card.  My kids had bank accounts at that age - which came with debit cards...but they were not allowed to use the debit cards without permission.   In fact, they didn't get to carry their debit cards around at all until they were at least 14 (mostly for fear of losing them - my boys were not always very reliable about keeping track of such things).

Charity reads Little Women aloud to the girls (it always amuses me when non-U.S. authors (I'm thinking of Neels and Summers here specifically) talk about American books--why do I think the cultural stream (novel-wise) only flows in one direction?)

I adore the details of Charity and the twins making a doll house out of cardboard boxes.  It's adorable. Having only one daughter and five sons, I have been much more likely to make catapults out of wood and rubber bands and use foil balls as ammo (I am not joking here - I can't tell you how many catapults I have made over the years -  at home and as a den leader in Cub Scouts.) I picked up this book (Mini Weapons of Mass Destructions) on my recent trip to Portland (shh! don't tell my son-in-law - it's for his birthday), because you can never learn too many ways to make catapults. Speaking of engineers and weapons...(I was!) Here's a little engineering humor (courtesy of Dr. van der Stevejinck)

Q: What's the difference between a civil engineer and a mechanical engineer?
A: A mechanical engineer makes weapons, a civil engineer makes targets.

I did say a 'little' ...

What kind of homemade toys have you made (or had)?

The Final Touch--1991

Even Bono feels it: 'And the last Betty read,
yeah, sounds the clanging chimes of doom...'
 Have you felt the gnarled, chilly hand of disaster reaching out to you in the dark watches of the night?  Have you strode quickly past dead-end alleyways, fleeing from the dread that dare not speak its name?  Have you caught yourself staring into the sun hoping, always hoping, to bring back those carefree hours of days gone by when this vague menace wasn't annexing room after room of your fevered brain?  Me too.  We're done, Bettys.  The Final Touch really is the final touch and when I had finally turned the last of some 13,000 pages I've read this last year I was genuinely sad.  (Not that I haven't rehearsed the ticker tape parade of The End of Days but I did not expect to feel that Tom Hanks-ian Brain Cloud.)  But that was a week ago and I still have a review to write!  Let's gird up our loins, adjust the C-cups and get on with it.

Professor Tyco van der Brons, 39, does not work in the Path Lab.  So why is he staring with microscopic intensity at the mousy English nurse?  He knows her history--hasn't it been hospital grapevine fodder for weeks now?  She found a job here in Holland on the recommendation of Cor van Kamp (a worthless young scalp-collector) and, with a trusting instinct no more developed than a babe newly born, she built high hopes on the lines he fed her.  Tyco sees all this but his own troubled romantic history lends him an extra-sensory perception.  Though he is a lofty professor/consultant of 39, he sees that Nurse Charity Pearson , 23, is about to have a similar romantic fall.  Moreover, he seems to know that she won't be able to brush it off like other girls her age.  He doesn't love her but he, nevertheless, knows that she's JUST. LIKE. HIM.    
Charity is heartsick--not just to be on the receiving end of pitying glances and bracing smiles, but genuinely torn up that Cor proves himself to be so unworthy of her, by this time, unwilling regard--and accepts the Professor's brotherly hand of friendship with happy relief.  Still, Cor is becoming a growing problem.  He's like a barnacle that has attached itself to her hull and won't shake itself loose.  She's convinced that an extended stay at a maritime museum dry docks is just what the doctor ordered--barnacles will be scraped and no new ones will have a chance to try their cement glands on her at all. 
My side-arm is in my other pants...
As he pesters her on the ward and brushes her hand or squeezes her shoulder, Cor is revealed as that most tiresome kind of man--the kind poisoning the water wells as he moseys into the sunset.  Thank heavens Tyco is handy with six-shooters and side-winders.  Charity is moved to the burn unit...headed by the Rootin'est Tootin'est Gun in the Holland. 
Tyco already knows that Charity has self-control, dignity, a fine work ethic, empathy toward the disfigured and a willingness to throw her punches straight from the shoulder but he also has occasion to learn that she's an Urban Supergirl.  Rushing into a burning row house she saves the life of an infant and a toddler, receiving some burns on the backs of her hands herself (which, btw, seems like a funny place to get them unless you're holding a baby and pushing open a door with the exposed part of your hand).  Tyco discovers her in shock sitting on her bed in the nurse's home, treats her and (I think) decides then and there to sometime soon offer her a marriage of convenience.  Why else would he lay bare the sordid history of his philandering first wife?  He establishes himself as a fellow sufferer of love's outrageous fortune, gets to tell her about his marital status...and the kids.
Oh, have I not mentioned them?  Letizia and Teile (First wives--for that matter, all wives--in Neelsland are Fertile Myrtles) are two precocious 10-year-old twins brought up by their soon-to-be-leaving governess, Miss Bloom--a velvet hand in the steel glove. They like Charity right away (which Tyco observes with relief) and press her to visit them again.  (She's there for tea.)  Not very long after, she makes the amazing discovery that Cor no longer matters. 
Hard on the heels of that is Tyco's proposal.  Only believe me when I say I have a great regard for you and believe that we could be happy as a family. He proposed for the sake of the girls, of course.  That, and the cold fact that she doesn't excite him.  Why else?  Not even Tyco could answer that one.
There's Newly Married and then there's Snuggie Married
So they marry.  The little girls are outfitted in matching dresses and Charity is wearing a new hat and patent leather shoes.  The ink isn't dry on the wedding license before Mijnheer and Mevrouw van der Brons have commandeered two fire-place adjacent wing-back chairs that, though it illustrates a different scene, reminds me forcibly of the words 'And Ma in her Kerchief and I in my Cap had just settled down to a long Winter's nap'.  As Sheryl Crow might say, 'This ain't no disco.'  But he reads his papers and she knits jumpers for the girls and, no doubt, he is congratulating himself on a task well-managed.
Until he falls in love with her.  He thought he knew what she was like--and he did know on some cerebral level that she was loyal, brave, plucky...But living with her is something else entirely and maybe he remembers that first, wretched marriage (that was never any sort of marriage at all) contrasted with the quiet pleasure now of coming home to his family and his feelings become quite jumbled.  Suddenly it matters awfully that anyone would ever hurt someone as wonderful as Charity and maybe it matters, too, that he's so much older than she is and...As you can tell, Tyco is on his beam ends.
But Charity is still wandering flashlight-less in a Dark Romantic Fog and might still be if not for the untimely appearance of Eunice, who, is probably as flat-chested as her name indicates.  She is Charity's step-sister and your average, run-of-the mill fashion model come to play tennis.  (Not tennis?  Then why is her back-hand so good?)
I love this part because it could really have gone off the rails but doesn't. 
Charity had the exterminator on speed dial.
  • Eunice invites herself to the townhouse.  (I'm reminded of those Orkin commercials where the life-sized bug wants to use the phone as a pretext to home invasion.)
  • Charity lies to her face and tells her she has to leave at the end of the week.  (Birthday party. Loads of family.  Don't let the door hit you on the rear on your way out.)
  • Tyco backs Charity up to the hilt (Which is a welcome relief from all those RDDs who think out of a mistaken sense of honor that one mustn't dislodge a guest under circumstances short of burning the house down--which, come to think of it, Charity might have been willing to do.), making the most of his opportunities by ramping up the endearments.
  • One of the girls gets sick on the very night that Tyco promised to take Flat-chested Eunice out to dinner. A minor spat ensues and then, later that night as Charity lurks in the shadows, Tyco KISSES Eunice...or she pretends to.
Happily, Charity doesn't have to resort to burning down the house.  Though Eunice was to leave the following afternoon, she tells her to get the $^%$  out of her #@!$#  house and not to darken her *@#;*!@ -- ;#@@#^  door ever again.  (Think of a Samuel L. "Bleep-Bleep" Jackson-Snakes-on-a-Plane freak out.)
Tyco and Charity have another spat (pretty minor stuff) where they are more than willing to meet each other half-way (but not at the same time) and it is just too bad that when Tyco leans forward to deliver an affectionate kiss Charity steps away.  Don't do that.  I can't bear it. 
A mini ice age develops on their front doorstep.
Later the next day, Charity is trotting down the hospital corridor on her way from having tea with the SNO and probably feeling less the Grand Married Lady than she ever has, when Cor oozes out from under the nearest rock.  Though he attempts to break her composure, she sweeps past him in a gesture that reminds me of when the mad-cap Sister Maria returns from her honeymoon with The Captain and he has to sing Edelweiss in front of everybody and she moves to his side, picking up the threads of his lost melody and beckons with all the confidence of a happily married woman to her children to join them. 
Tyco sees them, however and missed the subtleties of her confident gesture and accuses her of "meetings".  She fights back the only way she knows how; by reaching up on her tippy-toes and kissing his chin.
He chases her down, bundles her into the car, gets her nice and alone and kisses her back.
The End


Rating:  Queen of Puddings.  I really like this book and maybe it doesn't deserve this high a rating but my Wistful-O-Meter (see right) over the end of reviews has been hovering around Anne Murray and threatening any moment to enter the hitherto uncharted Don McLean reaches so I'm giving myself some artistic license on this one.
I have a theory about books--that any one of them can find a comparable Jane Austin equivalent.  So, The Final Touch is not sparkling like Pride and Prejudice but quietly romantic like Persuasion.  Charity has such a raw deal and Tyco expects so little happiness in life that, even though they're not riding many emotional roller-coasters, you're rooting for them to make a happy family.  I'm never tempted to get irritated with Charity for that I-shall-never-love-again business because her hurt and humiliation are just so fresh.  Tyco is forgiven for it because his first at-bat was a fiasco of Homeric proportions.
Letizia and Teile are darlings.  I love the part where they make doll houses out of old boxes with Charity.
I enjoy all the hospital set-up in this one too.  You really get a sense of the enormous social chasm that ought to have separated them (underlined vividly when Charity returns after her marriage to have tea with the senior nursing officer) but doesn't because, at heart, they are cut from the same cloth.
Eunice is an interesting distraction and, happily, Tyco isn't terribly good at dangling her in Charity's face (for that matter, Charity is being rather obstinate about her motherly duties), even going so far as to compliment Charity for her ability to lie like a trooper just to toss her sister to the curb.   

Food: Groentensoup, zeetong (sole), spekpannenkoeken with stroop, kerstkrans (a ring-shaped Christmas cake), poulet a l'estragon, pumpkin souffle, biscuit glace with fresh raspberries, wedding cake, little mushroom pancakes, and vichyssoise (just saying it makes my IQ jump ten points).

Fashion: Charity owns a soft, grey jersey dress which sounds suspiciously mouse-like, a burned coat gets replaced with a dark green winter coat and she buys a cranberry needlecord that carries her through upsetting social occasions like getting proposed to.  She has to talk the girls out of satin and yards of lace and a pearl-embroidered veil and satin slippers and long white gloves and into the considerably less romantic wool coat, hat and patent leather shoes (If Kate Middleton shows up in these tomorrow I lay odds that the monarchy could cock its toes up.).  She totters around on high heels for the girls and owns a gorgeous sapphire dress.  Sister Eunice swans around in fashions that probably reached their sell-by date before the book hit the publishers.

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

I may not know art, but I know what I like.


Betty Cindy started this darling little RDD (Rich Dutch Doctor) before her recent bout of health issues...we're so glad she's back, and not only back, but she's brought along a friend.

Here's what she had to say:

I do hope you aren't underwhelmed. ;-)

me


Silly Betty! I adore him from the top of his lint fair head to the bottom of his handmade Italian shoes. My only question? What's his name?  Let's hear some ideas from our fellow Bettys.

Question of the Week

The first rule of hermits was don't talk about hermits.
I've been dreading/anticipating this week for about six months now--holed up in my bunker with a dwindling stack of un-reviewed Neels novels, diminishing water stores and less and less contact with the outside world.  I'm like one of those ornamental hermits that some 19th Century landed gentlemen would pay to live in a prefabricated grotto erected on the outer perimeters of their land.  Or maybe I'm a schmaltzy Tim Rice lyric:
From the day we arrive on the planet
And blinking, step into the sun
There's more to see than can ever be seen
More to do than can ever be done
There's far too much to take in here
More to find than can ever be found
But the sun rolling high
Through the sapphire sky
Keeps great and small on the endless round

It's the Circle of Life
And it moves us all
Through despair and hope
Through faith and love
Till we find our place
On the path unwinding
In the Circle
The Circle of Life

Anyway, the four horsemen of the post-Betty Apocalypse have ridden up and they're thumping on the grotto and the bowing zebras are getting impatient and I could use a mani/pedi.  My question is: Oh the humanity!  What do we do now?!!