Not that you asked, but I recall really enjoying Steven Spielberg's Lincoln [review]. It was a fascinating look at one of the great men in the history of the United States. But when I think back to the film, it's not really ol' Honest Abe that I tend to focus on. No, sadly my mind often drifts to Mary Todd Lincoln, played by the impossibly delightful Sally Field. And to put it bluntly, in that film, I hated that bitch. I realize that makes me sound like a sexist asshole (mostly fair assessment, by the way) but Mary Todd really was just the worst. Luckily the film didn't focus on her and her endless berating of those around her. Instead, we spent the bulk of the run-time with the iconic man standing next to her.
Saving Mr. Banks, though having nothing to do with Lincoln, left me with a very similar (albeit worse) taste in my mouth. But instead of focusing on Walt Disney, this film tells the tale of P.L Travers, the woman who wrote Mary Poppins. Travers is a complicated woman, undoubtedly, but she is also borderline insufferable. And after 125 minutes with her and her relentless pursuit of destroying fun, it was going to take way more than a spoon full of sugar to make any of this go down.
I know I'm way off the rails, um, again, but did you ever see Blue Jasmine [review]? Emma Thompson probably has, and her version of Travers is like an unholy mix of Cate Blanchette's Jasmine and Field's Mary Todd Lincoln. It's not a bad performance, far from it. But I've never wanted to actually choke my television more.
My wife, somewhat unbeknownst to me, is a giant fan of Mary Poppins. It was one of the movies in heavy rotation during her childhood. Two weeks ago, she attempted to show the 1964 classic to me (I'd never seen it), but we both ended up passing out about 90 minutes in. Being the wonderful husband that I am, I thought she would enjoy Saving Mr. Banks. And unsurprisingly, she did. In fact, she stayed awake the whole time. How pleasant is the life I lead!
