Brigitte is an immensely tolerant soul. You have to be, to be around me. But we do have our . . . er . . . disagreements.
She can't stand Arnold Schwarznegger or Harrison Ford. I can't stand Brad Pitt or Julia Roberts.
It's a standing joke, while I'm watching "her" movies, when I say "The explosion has to be around that tree. Or an alien."
But that would be selling myself short! I would be the last to make my case here, in the court of public opinion; but in this matter, I must prevail.
Here is my proof that I do not wallow in Steven Seagal or Whatsis Van Damme movies. That I don't require an explosion every ten minutes. That I don't thrill to the latest chase -- be it a skidoo with a UFO or a parasail with a lawn mower. That there need be an alien, a monster or a murder in the first ten minutes.
Here is my proof:
A Passage To India
See? There is my proof. Need I be tormented by A Room With A View or a Brokeback Mountain or Bridges of Madison County or A RIVER RUNS THROUGH IT?????? to prove I'm not a slavering, action-figure-blockbuster-season ticket-bearing Neanderthal?
Brad Pitt? BRAD PITT?
A movie about fly-fishing?
After ten minutes, I informed Brigitte that I had noticed that the paint on the walls around the TV, put there in 2005, was finally dry.