Allan and I just finished watching Metropolitan, which I'd begun to believe I'd imagined. Our local Blockbuster (before it closed for good) didn't have it, and our local local (that's a double local, y'all) video store didn't have it either. Last week we got our Netflix for Wii disc, and we set up a queue of films. I pulled Metropolitan out of some distant place in my brain. You know, that bit of 1990 that we all don't remember.
I saw this movie back then, because I worked at an independent cinema on the grounds of the Chautauqua Institution. And I loved it. Here's a pretty crappy description of the film*:
In an apartment on Manhattan a couple of friends from the New York
upper-class meet almost every night to talk about social mobility, play
bridge and discuss Fourier's socialism; the cynic Nick, the
philosophical Charlie, party girl Sally and austenite Audrey. They are
joined by Tom. His background is much simpler and he is critical of
their way of life. But he finds a soul mate in Audrey, who without his
knowledge falls in love with him.
*Yeah, no. I'm not going to spend any time thinking of clever shit to use as a title.
At the time, I was in this weird relationship with a guy; he and I met in college, but he was transferring to another school, and Chautauqua was near enough that we saw each other fairly regularly that summer. I'll call him Clay, just for anonymity's sake. Clay was from a large city in a western state, and had gone to boarding school in another large city in another western state. He and I were, in the common parlance, fuckbuddies. I wanted more; I thought I was in love with him (I probably was, in all honesty).
Clay had spent a year in France during high school with a program that teamed his school up with other boarding schools. This was a seminal year for Clay, and his best friends, which he made that year, had gone to Exeter.
Clay told me stories about his time in France with his friends; he also told me stories about going sailing with said friends once they were back in the States. They did all kinds of things, he and his friends. For this preacher's kid from suburban Pittsburgh, it was all unbelievable yet desirable, because it was way, way out of my league.
And so the first time I watched Metropolitan, I imagined that the characters were Clay's friends (never mind that Clay didn't live in New York, and I had no idea where his Exeter friends were from). I imagined that this was the kind of life he led when he was with his friends (never mind that he lived in a fucking western city in a western state).
I wanted to watch this film again, not because of Clay, but because I remembered that we had it at the Chautauqua Cinema back in the day, and I remembered that I really enjoyed it.
And I watched it, and I enjoyed it, but this time I saw the characters from a completely different point of view. These poor rich kids who quote Jane Austen and have to live up to impossible standards, well, I felt sorry for them. Twenty years ago I wanted to be them. I wanted to be like Clay, who'd been to boarding school, and who had other rich friends whose families had fleets of Range Rovers, or second homes in Breckenridge, or who were simply named Breckenridge (Breck for short, of course).
I don't remember laughing when I watched Metropolitan back in the day. Tonight I laughed. I know so much more now than I did then.
Edit: Siskel and Ebert on Metropolitan. Much respect!
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