BookishNYC is having technical difficulties this week, as her modem at home has suddenly stopped working and she must wait for Time Warner Cable to come and replace it. That shocking cursing that you kept hearing over the weekend from the direction of the East Side emanated from chez Bookish. So posts this week may be a little erratic.
Other than THAT, however, the weekend was most pleasant. I saw The King's Speech, and can only add my accolades to everyone else's. Stuck to the story of George VI's debilitating speech impediment, didn't sentimentalize, didn't veer off into the tedious and over-baked story of the Abdication other than as absolutely necessary; Colin Firth and Geoffrey Rush (as speech therapist Lionel Logue) both superb, with Helena Bonham Carter as the Duchess of York (later known to us as the Queen Mother) and Timothy Spall as Churchill slyly amusing foils to the main characters. Now, I believe I've already mentioned in these pages how impressed I've been with Colin Firth of late -- particularly so in last summer's A Single Man. (Run, don't walk to get it on DVD. Go ahead -- I'll wait.) He's really a quietly terrific actor, too long overshadowed by his role as Mr. Darcy in the 1995 adaptation of Pride & Prejudice, for which I thought he was terribly mis-cast. (I'm quite possibily the only woman on either side of the Atlantic to think so.....) In any event, imagine my silent mirth on Saturday as I watched The King's Speech in a sold-out movie theater, when none other than Jennifer Ehle, the actress who played Elizabeth Bennett to Firth's Mr. Darcy, was introduced to him as the wife of Lioniel Logue.
As to reading: precious little of late, I'm sad to report, but what with the press of year-end business at the office plus presents to wrap and send, cards to get out, etc., I'm lucky to remain conscious long enough to eat something unhealthy for dinner before passing out in the evenings. However, I have just downloaded and started The Four Stages of Cruelty by Keith Hollihan -- it got a good mention in the Times last week, and its setting in a harsh midwestern prison is just the antidote to all of the faux holiday cheer. (Let me go on record: I have no problem with ACTUAL holiday cheer, it's just the forced jollity of the season that makes me want to read a good serial killer novel.)