One More Guilty Pleasure
My husband is fond of watching the Chicago Bears on TV with the sound turned off.
He turns on the radio for a more concise, less blathery commentary.
Applying this technique has made watchable one of the most exquisitely beautiful and excruciatingly stupid movie that I have ever seen:
What Dreams May Come.



What ruins this film is the idiotic plot which builds up layer upon layer of bad theology/philosophy etc.
until it is as thick as the lacquer on a magnificent Chinese lacquered box. I couldn’t resist watching one more time.
I had a little extra time this morning because Martha was ill, so I crawled back into bed and turned the movie on.
And it was the eye-candy that I had remembered. Listening to whatever I liked on my CD player, I could watch the images float by,
trying to remember the various artists’ styles that were being evoked.
Not having to listen to the soul-mate/schmoulmate heaven/hell life/death/reincarnation twaddle was priceless.
Just about any music should work: Faure, Mozart, Coldplay, Nick Drake, Vivaldi.........anything you like.
As long as one doesn’t have to listen to the dialogue, it is a beautiful movie.

(Of course, while I’m on a roll, maybe it is not really beautiful, though it is extraordinarily eye pleasing.
If we are to say that the truly beautiful should also incorporate the good and the true, well then, the beauty in this movie is shot to hell.
Literally. But it is true eye-candy. Not nourishing for the soul, but sweet and stimulating. JUST DON’T LISTEN TO THE DIALOGUE!)