Tuesday, November 20, 2012

Sex and Poetry

Just in case we're nearing the end of an era, it was an Avenues kind of an evening.

The plan was to see "The Sessions," which was playing at Bowtie and Westhampton.

But just in case the imminent demise of the Westhampton is more than a rumor, I wanted to see it there.

Especially now that power tools are buzzing inside that building in the Bowtie parking lot that's supposed to be turned into an art house,

So I decided to go whole (West End) hog and eat at the Continental first.

I've been there so I knew about the out-sized portions, overly bright lighting and lame soundtrack, but it sure is convenient.

Actually, by going on a Monday, the crowd wasn't unmanageable as on some past visits.

But the music was a schizophrenic mix that swung from Sam Cook to Human League with Journey in between and really pretty awful.

When I inquired about its source, our very young bartender was wildly enthusiastic about it, so I didn't dare burst his bubble.

My Titanic was merely a wedge salad of Titanic proportions, but the bacon was generous and the bleu cheese dressing decent, so that was a score.

I tried a bite of banana rum flan but found it to be not to my taste so my companion scarfed it all.

I found compensation in a box of Sno-caps when we arrived next door for the movie.

Inside the theater, we were one of four duos in the place, meaning we felt like we were at a private screening.

Which was ideal for a movie about a disabled man using a sex surrogate.

Seriously, there was a lot of sex in the movie, all of it calmly explained by the surrogate as she helped a middle-aged man lose his virginity.

And may I just say that for a 49-year old woman, Helen Hunt is looking pretty damn good naked.

Humor abounded with lines like, "Germany, the only place in the world where humor is forbidden."

As a justification for believing in religion, the man says, "I find it absolutely intolerable not to be able to blame someone."

It's not going to make me believe in religion any time soon, but it did make me laugh out loud.

The story of a poet and journalist crippled by polio deciding to get a little action (his "sell-by" date was approaching) was beautifully acted, told without sentimentality and completely uplifting even though he dies at the end.

But not before a poignant discussion of what's important in life and that boiled down to poetry and sex.

Beyond that, the characters decide, is nothing or everything and it's all negotiable.

Now there's a concept I can get behind.

I think that'll be my religion.

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