Finally I saw Under the Tuscan Sun. Whoever recommended it lacks foresight. The film is far above its story, cinematography, hollywood histrionics, bruckheimer-ish spectacle, what have you... It's beyond maganda-yang-movie-na-yan. Yeah, go see Phantom of the Opera.
It came to me as a mystical message from a being that lives in a kinder planet. I just can't explain it. Film criticism jargon escaped me. It was pregnant with lessons in life that people like me, including those who liked the film so dearly, should have learned long ago before they messed their's and somebody else's life.
It's a simple story really. Girl mends a broken heart; buys a house in picturesque
Typical of a feel-good movie. It felt so good I had the urge to climb our neighbor's duhat and pretend I was picking olives. Or dance drunk under a fountain and shower in its spouts. O wait, I already did that.
In spite of the film's endearing and sweet scenes, almost 80% - sending my blood sugar level into space - I still find myself fixated by the storm scene. It very well picture my present predicament. I would sit on that washing machine left in the open and stay on it just until the lightining strikes. It's better than spending the rest of our old age pointlessly placing flowers before the Virgin's bas relief along the road.
Ah, someday I would ride a motorbike, not necessarily in white dress, to find my Marcelo waiting for me in a town by the sea... Stop! Didn't he just dump the main character? Scum bag! I know your kind! You've been with me before! Die, you two-timing paramecium... half dog, half oyster! Go lay on a bed of salt!
Hey, let's still go to
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