Wednesday night I watched the first Bette Davis movie I'd ever seen, The Old Maid, a wonderful film based on a play that was in turn based on an Edith Wharton novellette. Of Wharton's works, I've only read The Age of Innocence. Comparing these two stories, there seems to be a common theme of an individual repressing his or her desires for their entire lives, never being granted the thing they want most before death. And every time the sacrifice is brought to a point, we see that the character has very good reason for sarificing him/her self, and we admire the character's strength for being able to do so.
Bette Davis was a very good actress. Knowing she was the notorious rival of Joan Crawford biases me somewhat (I love Joan Crawford), but I figure it's all water under the bridge--and, anyway, art ought to rise above such things . . . blah blah. Yes, Davis was great. And for some reason I was surprised by how slim she was.
Mirium Hopkins was also in the movie, having just begun to mature past the deviant moppet I loved her as in Trouble in Paradise, a film I've been thinking about a lot lately.
So why didn't I post yesterday? Well, after 6am Thursday, there was rarely a moment that I had any access to the computer. I didn't return until the following 3:30 am, when I found my aunt had been having troubles with the printer that I endeavoured to help with before falling unconscious.
And what was I doing yesterdy? I drove and wandered. Then hung out with Trisa, and played much Soul Calibur 2 . . . At last, a human person was willing to play against me! Such joy . . . and she wasn't a push over, neither. Sure, I won most of the time--but not all the time!