Paging Cleavon Little

Last night I made the alarming discovery that my husband, whom I have known for almost ten years, had never seen The Princess Bride.

Shocked, I tell you… shocked.

Especially because both my best “Maid” (snort) and his awesome cousin BOTH quoted the movie extensively when toasting us at our wedding. I recoil at the hypocrisy involved in smiling and nodding and raising a glass to filmic references that mean nothing to you. At Your Wedding. Damn.

So of course I set about rectifying the situation immediately. I found my old copy of the video tape, marveled in a kind of stoner fashion at the analogue-ness of an actual Video Tape (bizarre!), and fired that baby up.

Not surpisingly, the movie doesn’t hold quite the same charm as it did when I was a swooning, romance-obsessed teenager. And whenever I looked at Robin Wright, I couldn’t help trying to send her telepathic messages back in time, along the lines of “Sean Penn is an evil genius, don’t marry him!!!”

Matt really liked the scene with Miracle Max and the fabulous Carol Kane. Also the Fezzik/Wesley fight scene. And I heard geniunely startled laughter from his side of the couch during such gems of dialogue as “It’s possible, Pig,” and “you warthog-faced buffoon…”

Next up, I think it’s time to check in on Blazing Saddles, and see how well that piece of comedic genius stands the test of time. If only for the Lili Von Whatsis stage number, which, when I was sixteen, I thought was the best thing I’d ever seen.

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