The Woovie Critic

Title explanation which has absolutely nothing to do with the post: When she was little, my youngest daughter had the cutest way of twisting her words. Because she was the baby, we all thought it was adorable, and adopted her diction as our own. We all said "ho-mock" and "corn pop" and "poop dog" and "gee-tow" with her because, gosh darnit, she was just so stinkin' cute. (Her Kindergarten teacher was not amused.) Anyway, she would say "woovie" instead of "movie", and it just stuck with us.

And now, the actual blog post:

Because I'm the grandmother of two little boys, I tend to see a LOT of kids' movies. It's a joy to take my boyos, and watch them watch. Especially now that C-Monkey can actually sit through an entire film without feeling the need to explore the theater from beneath the seats. And occasionally, Mr. Roboto has been able to make it through with only one or two trips to the bathroom. We see every one of the PG or G rated films...some more than once. Animated, fantasy, and those live-action movies with big name stars who used to be famous actors but are now too old for the chick flicks or action adventures, and have found themselves playing the parents of teeth-gratingly annoying children.

I call this "Nap Time for Grammie".

Oh, I've enjoyed a few of them. Kung Fu Panda held my attention. Some of the Pixar stuff is wonderful, and I kind of resent the plot and artwork cutting into my sleep pattern. Last summer's kid fare was just awful for me, as I ranted about here and here.

Yesterday, because I had worked hard at home, and deserved a nice 100 minute nap, I took the guys to see Hotel for Dogs. Have you seen this heart-warming tale? It's about a couple of siblings who have been battered around by the Evil Foster System, and are not candidates for adoption because they are 10 and 16...no longer cute little puppies. (get it? get it? That's just one of the subtle hidden messages in the film)

The story begins with Bruce, the 10-year-old, putting heavy stones into empty cell phone boxes, using the hot air hand dryer at school to shrink wrap them, and passing them on to his sister Andi to sell as new to the pawn shops. Now, I'm quite old, and not up to date on all the hip new jargon the kids use these days, but in my day we called that 'fraud'. Were these kids punished? Not so much. They did go to the police station, but their social worker (Don Cheadle, who used to be a famous actor) got them out on the legal defense of being Adorable Well-dressed Orphans Stuck in the Evil Foster System. Because then theft is quite ok, and there are no consequences for illegal actions. Oh, I see.

The foster parents are Carl and Lois Scudder (Lisa Kudrow who used to be a famous actress), They are scum o' the earth rockers who keep the kitchen cabinets padlocked, and feed the kids twice a day because that's all they're legally required to do. Cereal in the morning and tv dinners at night. Carl and Lois are working hard to perfect their sound; they're going to hit it big. You know without having seen the movie that they are just wretched. Really, a metal version of Smelly Cat would have been an improvement. So the kids are completely on their own to wander the streets. They come across an abandoned luxury hotel which they take over, and commence to appropriate as a home for dozens and dozens of strays. Adding Breaking and Entering to their rap sheet. The Despicable Empire of Animal Control shows up here and there, but the kids always thwart their attempts to capture the strays...once, with the obligatory kick to the crotch.

The kids are gorgeous and brilliant; the adults are caricatures; the stray dogs are all purebreds; the hotel was abandoned but miraculously still has all the furniture and even some clothing left behind by guests; blah blah blah; villains, separation, orphanages, sadness, blah blah, dogs on the loose, blah blah multiple traffic accidents, heroes, redemption, adoption by the good guy, curtain.

It was Home Alone all over again. I hated Home Alone.

Bottom line: The boys LOVED this movie, and me? I liked it a whole lot more than Bride Wars.

Such a good movie!

If you haven't seen this movie, you've missed Kevin at his cutie patooty finest. The final 16 minutes rip my heart out every time. And the song that accompanies the Terrified-Daddy-In-The-Waiting-Room scene is perfection. It's called This Woman's Work by Kate Bush. If you're struggling to choose a boy's name, watch the closing credits.

I'm just saying, I laughed, I cried...it became a part of me.

Just a Suggestion...

Preparing for Grandpa's funeral has put me in a pensive state.

As my girls were growing up, we had the obligatory critter parade: hamsters, rats, mice, birds, fish, dogs and cats. Except for the dog (a 100-pound Rhodesian Ridgeback) and the cat, who had the decency to wander off someplace to die, as each animal met it's demise, it was lovingly placed in an empty Velveeta box. The box was carried to a special spot beneath the elephant bush, a hole was dug with Mom's strongest serving spoon, and we would have a small funeral. After 25 years in that house, you can only guess the amount of nachos we had to eat to accommodate the pet population. But it was simple, and a nice tradition.

Which brings me to a bit of free advice:

Don't die.

Or if you insist upon dying, do it in such a way that you leave no physical remains. For example, you might choose to lower yourself slowly into a vat of molten steel a la T2. Or you might hire a large, hungry carnivore (i.e. shark or grizzly) which will finish you off in one sitting. Alien abduction might work, but apparently they insist on bringing folks back, which sort of defeats the purpose.

My point is this: unless you planned way ahead and set up the whole "pre-need funeral arrangements" thing back in the mid 1970s, you won't be able to afford to have yourself buried. We're talking like eight grand for a simple graveside service...pecan wood casket et al. If you planned to leave anything to the kids, forget it. You'll be reposing in their inheritance for the rest of whatever. I'm not saying it's a racket; I don't like to call anything a racket. But it's a really really really expensive um... industry. So you might want to start dropping your spare dimes into a piggy bank to pay for your own pecan wood casket.

Unless you have a Costco-sized Velveeta box and a really sturdy spoon. In which case, you're welcome to join the Johnson Critters Memorial Park. We'll even add a nice Popsicle stick head stone; no extra charge.