The first time I saw Gwyneth Paltrow act was in Emma. I hated the dippy high-empire waisted dresses worn in the movie, but I thought she turned in a terrific and believable British-girl performance. I remember thinking she should have been nominated for an Academy Award.
Then I heard more about Gwyneth from a guy I met in a writing class. He was a former actor (he’s in one of Ahnold’s movies) who had also acted in plays on the East Coast with Blythe Danner, Gwyneth’s mom. He had kept in touch with her and knew about Gwyneth and her brother Jake.
Gwyneth Paltrow and Joseph Fienes star in "Shakespeare in Love"
On Christmas Day in 1998 I took my Mom to the movies near Seal Beach. She loved going to the movies (see blog dated 2/17/10). I thought Shakespeare in Love would be one we both would enjoy (as my Mom pretended to be British and was a fan of the Bard). I wore a red and white fuzzy Santa hat decorated with Christmas pins with bells on the top. I was in a jolly mood and it jingled as we stood in line—at least forty-five minutes early. (We always had to be early to make sure we got the coveted seats in the last row.)
As the doors opened and our line started to move, a tiny woman, like a crafty elf, made a beeline from the parking lot, ran past the people in line, right up to the door, and slipped in.
I was astonished. This woman cut in line—on Christmas Day! The worst part was that she sat directly behind us in the wheelchair row—even though a handicapped person did NOT accompany her. Taking up a wheelchair seat—on Christmas Day! Now I was appalled.
I fumed. I HAD to say something. Ye Ol’ Hubby Man tried to shush me. I turned around and told her off—how rude it was to cut in front of others. She looked at me blankly, bored, unbothered. “And a Merry Christmas to you!” I said and turned around. Bah humbug! I left my hat on and sat up straight.
The movie watching did not go so well either. My Mom kept asking questions—about Gwyneth’s character, the girl part, the boy part, and about what was going on. I frown on chatting during movies, but I figured the small woman with the small manners wouldn’t know polite from a light pole. (That’ll teach her to cut in line!)
About halfway through the movie I realized my Mom couldn’t follow the plot line,nor she could she remember what had happened a few scenes prior. She kept asking about “the blonde girl.” The movie confused her.
I got a sinking feeling in my stomach. (Frankie didn’t even want any more popcorn.) Uh oh. I watched the rest of the movie whispering to my Mom, knowing this was not a good sign of things to come.
As we walked out of the theatre, my Mom said she liked “the blonde girl” but did not understand what the movie was about. She asked a few questions and then realized, too, her brain wasn’t what it used to be—by a mile. She rode home in the car in silence. (Also not how she used to be—quiet.)
Very sad—for both of us. That was the last movie I took my Mom to. Every time I see Gwyneth, I think of that time with my Mom. At least she got to see an Academy Award Winning Best Picture and Best Actress movie at the end. Her brain disintegrated slowly. Eventually she didn’t recognize me. I have my theory on her dementia, which disappeared on the night she died. But that’s another blog.
I had planned to write about Gwyneth’s blog called GOOP, but I’m kinda not feelin’ it now. And since I mentioned Frankie, he suggested why not bop over to Eric’s Deli and see what’s cookin.’
“There’s a Chinese chicken salad with my name on it,” he whispers to me.
More on Gwyneth later….
