On Not Paying Attention

You have to be awfully distracted to get the date of a movie wrong.

I could defend myself by saying that after years of attending regularly, I know that VCU Cinematheque is usually held on Tuesdays. But that doesn't tke into account that I checked online earlier today to verify that the Byrd, not the usual Grace Street Theater, was the venue.

It was, but somehow I missed the date.

So after accomplishing everything on my to-do list - walking, writing, editing, shopping, interviewing, handing off - I hi-tailed it to the Byrd, only to find an empty box office and closed doors because a private event was in progress.

(sound of record scratching)

Out comes manager Todd, saying how nice it was to see me. What about VCU Cinematheque? He looked at me, asking, "L'Avventura?" Yes, yes, the Michelangelo Antonioni film I was so eager to see.

"That was Sunday at 1:30," he said, trying to make it sound like an error anyone could make. Oops. And just to make sure I didn't pull the same bonehead mistake next month, he reminded me of another Cinematheque Sunday screening in October.

But I am nothing if not adaptable, so while I'd really been looking forward to a 1960 Italian cinema classic, I punted.

That meant going back home, doing some more writing, some hemming and finding a small, arthouse movie at Criterion for later. Ciao, Italy, and hello Britain.

But just to keep my streak going, I bought my ticket  for "The Bookshop" and promptly walked into the wrong theater, sat there for ten minutes and finally figured out that if no previews were showing, I must be in the wrong place. Because theater 4 and theater 3 are apparently not interchangeable. So I moved to the correct theater where I find I am the sole occupant. Probably best.

"When we read a book, we inhabit it," the film begins. "And the story keeps playing in your head." Tell me about it. I couldn't stop replaying "Loving Frank" after my girl crush began it and recommended it to me last month. After reading it, I was so caught up in the story that I peppered her with my thoughts for weeks, at least until she finally suggested we have a book dinner, the better to discuss it in depth.

Meanwhile, this sweet, little film involved smelling books (c'mon, who doesn't?), discovering Ray Bradbury and books delivered in brown paper packages tied up with string. There were multiple long takes of the sea, grasses blowing in the wind on the point and rain on cobblestones.

And you know what? Bill Nighy made it all worthwhile, never more so than when he kissed our heroine's hand. It was just the thing after a couple of ridiculously busy days.

Now that everything's done, I can finally take a deep breath and relax. I'm good to go.