The Magic of Ordinary Skeet (Ulrich)
Jan. 31st, 2005 01:04 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ealgyldenSo I decided to celebrate the news that Miracles is finally available for preorder by watching Skeet's "Hallmark Hall of Fame" flick. Heh, "finally." Like I'd ever had any expectation of the show being released at all. Now I get all snippy about waiting a couple of months. Typical. And oddly enough, there may also be distant rumblings Magnificent Seven-ward, what with Showtime Extreme digging it back out of the vaults, and Netflix and Amazon doing headcounts (eeeeenteresting....). Paul and Alva in April and Ezra in 2006? That would be something. We do live in a world of wonders, after all. And random tangents. What the heck was I talking about? Oh, Skeet! Right.
Now, it's Hallmark, so I was expecting sweet and wholesome and sappy punctuated with people crying over greeting cards. But this was... very wholesome indeed. All it lacked was Wilford Brimley and Roma Downey showing up at my door with chocolate chip cookies and milk and a CD of "Guy and Ralna's Greatest Hits." Hm. Maybe that's less wholesome than it is terrifying. And yes, The Magic of Ordinary Days (gee, catchy) was as sweet and wholesome and sappy as I'd expected. Which isn't to say that it was bad, exactly. But now I feel like I should be drinking bourbon from the bottle and smoking smuggled Cuban cigars while watching kinky gay porn, just to get back to my normal vanilla self. Skeet was perfectly lovely, but dayum, that was... wholesome.
And where was Skeet's dark side? No man was ever so good. He marries Felicity (I assume Keri's character had a name, but Felicity she was and Felicity she shall remain, world without end) even though she's pregnant with someone else's baby and he's never met her before the wedding, and the whole time, he's all, "Let me love you! Let me be a father to your baby! But there's no pressure, of course, take your time, settle in, I'll just cook and clean and dig you a swimming hole and read up on archaeology and ask you no questions and make no demands and never even think of touching you or kissing you even though it's the '40's and we're married and I'm incredibly gorgeous and stable and successful by many standards, not just 'I'm a farmer and I'm not bankrupt!' standards, and bizarrely still single with no mysterious hidden past or war-induced trauma (other than the dead brother, which I seem pretty okay with, considering) or dead wife for whom I'm still pining or fear of gossipy neighbors counting up months or brokenhearted local girl with an "understanding" who's been abandoned for your sake (and I don't even seem to be gay). I won't pressure, I won't pine, I'll just wait sweetly and stoically for you to see me. I love you, darling stranger-wife!" Not that that's bad, of course, but come on! The guys in Sunfire novels are more demanding than this! Where are the typical romance novel hero flaws that only her love can fix (ha ha ha, naive girl)? Instead we get teases- oh no, he's racist! Wait, no, not really. Oh no, he's jealous! Wait, no, he's over it. Oh no, he's boring! Wait... okay, maybe a little, but he's so gosh-darned sweet, and he digs up the yard and hits the books to impress her, aw. He's the too-good-to-be-true guy who wins the heroine away from the flashy-but-unreliable guy, except that since we never see the FBU guy for comparison, poor Skeet comes off looking like he's so damn nice there just have to be six bodies buried in the root cellar. If he'd sung "You Are My Sunshine," I would have screamed.
I can only assume that a lot was cut in the jump from page to screen, because there did seem to be a lack of, well, plot. Nothing really happens for an hour and a half and then bam!, there are escaped POWs and an almost-elopement and car theft and Felicity going into labor all at the same time? Balanced in its pacing, it was not. Nor particularly emotionally deep, come to that. They tip-toed around the edges of the various messy entanglements, but veered safely away before they could get sucked in. Either there are serious tranqs in the wells or these people are scarily good at rolling with punches. Sheesh. Still, the movie was pretty, the costumes were attractive, the romance was sweet, Skeet was gorgeous, and I am shallow. And it's not like my Sunday nights are so busy, I can't spare a couple of hours for a marshmallow of a chick flick.
Now, it's Hallmark, so I was expecting sweet and wholesome and sappy punctuated with people crying over greeting cards. But this was... very wholesome indeed. All it lacked was Wilford Brimley and Roma Downey showing up at my door with chocolate chip cookies and milk and a CD of "Guy and Ralna's Greatest Hits." Hm. Maybe that's less wholesome than it is terrifying. And yes, The Magic of Ordinary Days (gee, catchy) was as sweet and wholesome and sappy as I'd expected. Which isn't to say that it was bad, exactly. But now I feel like I should be drinking bourbon from the bottle and smoking smuggled Cuban cigars while watching kinky gay porn, just to get back to my normal vanilla self. Skeet was perfectly lovely, but dayum, that was... wholesome.
And where was Skeet's dark side? No man was ever so good. He marries Felicity (I assume Keri's character had a name, but Felicity she was and Felicity she shall remain, world without end) even though she's pregnant with someone else's baby and he's never met her before the wedding, and the whole time, he's all, "Let me love you! Let me be a father to your baby! But there's no pressure, of course, take your time, settle in, I'll just cook and clean and dig you a swimming hole and read up on archaeology and ask you no questions and make no demands and never even think of touching you or kissing you even though it's the '40's and we're married and I'm incredibly gorgeous and stable and successful by many standards, not just 'I'm a farmer and I'm not bankrupt!' standards, and bizarrely still single with no mysterious hidden past or war-induced trauma (other than the dead brother, which I seem pretty okay with, considering) or dead wife for whom I'm still pining or fear of gossipy neighbors counting up months or brokenhearted local girl with an "understanding" who's been abandoned for your sake (and I don't even seem to be gay). I won't pressure, I won't pine, I'll just wait sweetly and stoically for you to see me. I love you, darling stranger-wife!" Not that that's bad, of course, but come on! The guys in Sunfire novels are more demanding than this! Where are the typical romance novel hero flaws that only her love can fix (ha ha ha, naive girl)? Instead we get teases- oh no, he's racist! Wait, no, not really. Oh no, he's jealous! Wait, no, he's over it. Oh no, he's boring! Wait... okay, maybe a little, but he's so gosh-darned sweet, and he digs up the yard and hits the books to impress her, aw. He's the too-good-to-be-true guy who wins the heroine away from the flashy-but-unreliable guy, except that since we never see the FBU guy for comparison, poor Skeet comes off looking like he's so damn nice there just have to be six bodies buried in the root cellar. If he'd sung "You Are My Sunshine," I would have screamed.
I can only assume that a lot was cut in the jump from page to screen, because there did seem to be a lack of, well, plot. Nothing really happens for an hour and a half and then bam!, there are escaped POWs and an almost-elopement and car theft and Felicity going into labor all at the same time? Balanced in its pacing, it was not. Nor particularly emotionally deep, come to that. They tip-toed around the edges of the various messy entanglements, but veered safely away before they could get sucked in. Either there are serious tranqs in the wells or these people are scarily good at rolling with punches. Sheesh. Still, the movie was pretty, the costumes were attractive, the romance was sweet, Skeet was gorgeous, and I am shallow. And it's not like my Sunday nights are so busy, I can't spare a couple of hours for a marshmallow of a chick flick.
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Date: 2005-02-01 06:58 am (UTC)Well, you know, I did tape it (yeah, yeah :P), so if you're curious (or bored, or can't sleep, or have a sudden influx of free time and nothing to do including laundry and washing dishes), I can toss it in the pile of things to send you... he does look awfully pretty. *g* Too bad about the whole "nothing happens! For two hours!" issue, really.
It's bizarre, we have almost no snow. It's cold as heck, but we only have six inches, tops. Deeply strange, and not at all convenient for contriving excuses for slackers. Um. Doo dee doooo....