reality crashers

I went to see Wedding Crashers last night, mainly for Vince Vaughn's rapid-fire delivery of witticisms on the meeting of women. I wasn't disappointed. He was a carbon-copy of his Swingers character, which is maybe a carbon copy of his true personality.

The thing about going to see American movies here in the I.C.E. (where most movies are American) is that it's like a little mini trip back to the States for me. Sitting in a dark theater, surrounded by a fast dialogue in American English, laughing first (and sometimes being the only one) at the jokes, seeing familiar places (the Washington Monument, sailing on the Chesapeake Bay) in all their bigscreen glory, makes me forget where I am for a couple of hours. I might as well be in the Chelmsford theater of my youth, Mrs. Nelson´s Candy House across the street.

The less familiar things begin when the lights come on at the end and the Icelandic chatter starts up all around me. That's the first not-in-Kansas clue. The second always comes at the bottom of the auditorium stairs, when I turn to go out the exit door. There's no Mrs. Nelson's there with the striped awnings, humid in the summer air. In place there's usually a light drizzle, blessedly fresh air, and distant sidelit mountains that slope down to the water at a distinctive Icelandic angle. In the end, it's always nice to come back from the American vacation.