On Silently Not Getting the Girl

"Studies have proven that it's okay for you to be happy."

That's taken from part of the pre-movie entertainment at VMFA's Friday Films.

In between slides about the museum's gift shop, art classes and upcoming films, that one appears seemingly apropos of nothing. Not to worry, I took note.

Tonight was the final night of the regular Friday Film series, although the museum intends to intermittently show films.

For such a momentous occasion, the event's organizer Trent Nicholas chose a film he'd always wanted to show but hadn't.

It was Charlie Chaplin's "The Circus" from 1928, made on the cusp of talkies, and he'd refrained because it was a silent film. For the final night, he decided on a little self-indulgence, even if no one else came. But the faithful came.

My silent movie expert of a friend Jameson would probably choke on his Lobo Marino (orange soda and PBR, a South American favorite) if he heard me say this, but it may have been my first Chaplin film ever.My apologies to those more film-savvy than me.

The comedy was much more romantic than I expected, especially since the guy (the Little Tramp character) didn't get the girl (she went with the stereotypically macho tightrope walker...boring). Just like real life sometimes.

Along the way Chaplin showed off his physical comedy skills, most of which are lost one me. The amazing part that did impress me was that he also wrote, directed, produced, wrote the music, sang the theme song and acted in this film; it garnered him a special Academy Award for all that.

One of my favorite moments came with a line of dialog rather than a pratfall or sight gag.  Chaplin was engaged to help give a horse a pill by blowing it through a long straw into the horse's mouth while two others held the horse's mouth open.

Naturally he failed, inadvertently swallowing the pill himself. His explanation? "The horse blew first." I found that hysterical.

Once the short film ended, I saw no reason not to go upstairs to Amuse, especially since I hadn't been since the madness of Picasso had been lifted.

I arrived to a subdued dining room and only one couple at the bar; it was quite a change from the past few months. In all fairness, it was also the start of the holiday weekend, undoubtedly a factor.

Settling in with my Montand sparkling rose (the bartender's only question having been "Are you starting with Rose or absinthe tonight?"), I was pleased to see that the "safe" menu had finally exited along with the Picasso hordes.

Piquing my interest was the Spring Vegetable Garden with curry "soil" and creme fraiche. When it arrived, it was easily one of the prettiest plates ever set before me.

A variety of local, organic baby veggies (beets, carrots, peppers and radishes) sat atop "dirt" made of crumbled gingersnaps and curry with a knotted spring onion in the center and a dollop of creme fraiche on top.

The combination of the spicy but not sweet crumbles and the fresh baby veggies was inspired. I hope this dish stays on the menu all summer. It's just the kind of dazzler at which Amuse excels.

Noting that the absinthe drip was without iced water, I inquired about its unused look only to discover that it hadn't been active since that final Picasso weekend when I'd been in.

Somebody needed to change that and I was sure that I was just the girl to do it. And they had changed absinthe brands

Bartender Stephen offered to fill it in readiness if I thought I might need a green fairy tonight. I did so he did.

Meanwhile, I enjoyed a plate of grilled asparagus with Pecorino and olive oil while the drip was readied.

As the dining room began to empty, I sipped my absinthe while discussing a Post article I'd brought to Stephen about muddling and muddlers.

His new summer drink menu calls for much muddling, so I knew he'd be interested. He's already engaged a coworker to go on a muddler buying trip based on the piece's recommendations. Always happy to be of service where I can.

Leaving the restaurant, I passed a clutch of security people and somewhat guiltily asked if I was the last person in the museum.

I was, I was told, so I apologized. "It's okay. It just means that you're special," one of the guys said, attempting to be polite when surely they wanted me gone.

Hey, I was just busy being happy and lost track of time. I know it's okay because studies have proven it.