Rip and Read

When you need bodice-ripping, you gotta turn to a girlfriend.

Fact is, I originally had a happy hour date with a favorite girlfriend but illness took her down for the count mid-day (subject line: one word - flu) so I adjusted accordingly.

I'd been wanting to indulge my inner history geek, not to mention my inner romantic, by seeing "A Royal Affair" at the Criterion, so I invited a healthy girlfriend to join me.

"What a perfect night for historical drama," she responded. That's my girl.

Wanting wine first, she suggested Lunch a mere ten minutes before she expected me to meet her there, but I am nothing if not efficient about getting out of the house.

It was early, so Lunch was slow with one couple also going to the movies at another table and a solo diner next to the new electric fireplace.

And may I just say what a welcome addition that little flame box was on a cold, damp night.

We kept it simple with Malbec, deciding to share the Summit Avenue crabcake appetizer while my Brussels sprouts-obsessed friend insisted on a side of them.

The kitchen, not being busy, even plated them separately, making for a baby crabcake over a bacon and corn griddle cake with a mound of bacon-infused sprouts next to it on each of our plates.

It was a nice touch.

Just as we were wondering what movie the other couple was going to see, we overheard the server ask them and heard "Les Mis."

A discussion of actors trying to sing resulted with one of the guys observing, "Russell Crowe shouldn't have to do anything more than stand there and look good."

So maybe their movie motives were as hormone-based as ours.

I won't lie, part of the appeal of a Danish historical costume drama based on fact was the, well, affair between the queen and the king's physician/best friend/adviser.

As it turned out, we were two of four occupants of the theater, and all had XX chromosomes.

I had to assume that men just aren't into Danish history.

I don't know why not, given the fascinating story of a mentally ill king who marries an English bride he's never met and proceeds to bring a doctor to court who espouses the new thinking of the Enlightenment, much to the chagrin of the noble-led royal council.

So, yes, there was this great story and this passionate affair that took a while to get going (all the better to savor it when it did) while the lovers discussed books and philosophy.

But also the movie's cinematography was exquisite, with countless scenes resembling art created by a Dutch master.

Scene after scene evoked a painting, from a schooner at the waterside with the distinctive dusky Dutch sky surrounding it to a royal procession through a snow-covered forest to the Vermeer-looking light that came through every castle window.

It was an art history geek's wet dream and I should know.

And while the film was full of beautiful shots of period details like copper and stone bathtubs and rooms lit solely by candlepower, as a female, I've got no use for a time where every sex act meant the risk of pregnancy.

That said, I've got plenty of time for watching best foreign film nominees in the comfort of a reclining stadium seat barely two miles from home.

When the film ended, partially sadly of course (deportings, beheadings, children ripped from a mother's bosom) because it's based on real life, and partially hopefully because the events spurred a revolution in Denmark that took it from the Dark Ages to one of Europe's most progressive, the woman behind us stood up and addressed us.

"Wasn't that wonderful?" she asked enthusiastically.

My girlfriend and I stood there talking to her for a while about the movie, only to learn that her TV had broken a while back and she'd started reading again.

But not "that modern fiction," she clarified, but the classics.

"I'm reading "A Farewell to Arms" right now," she gushed. "And it's got love scenes but he doesn't really describe the specifics, but the language is so beautiful."

She mentioned how glad she was not to have a TV now since it had gotten her back into reading and out to movies.

My friend recommended "A Movable Feat" next, saying Papa's description of eating raw oysters had had her salivating and she doesn't even care for raw oysters.

As we walked out, we were talking about the pleasures of life without television like we were old friends.

And, really, we were just three women looking for sex and romance on another rainy night in River City.

With our metaphorical bodices now satisfyingly ripped wide open.