Old Love

Last Chance Harvey-Dustin Hoffman, Emma Thompson

SEE.

I know this is wrong but ever since Something's Gotta Give, I've been a little squeamish about...well...old love. (No. Not former flames. I mean "On Golden Pond meets Cocoon" love.)Look. I live in Hollywood. Whaddya want from me? We sacrifice our souls on the altar of youth everyday. If it's over thirty, it's over. (Hey! I'm almost forty so forget about calling me ageist.) In principle, I have nothing against a nice hand-holding sort of romance between Dustin Hoffman and Emma Thompson; but, as a viewer, I prefer to revisit my younger days in romance. What I remember of them anyway. I do not want to think about what happens to my dentures if I get slipped a little tongue. Seriously, a kiss is supposed to be beautiful and hot. Remember when Sarah Michelle Gellar teaches Selma Blair to kiss in Cruel Intentions. Oh, stop it! You know you don't want to see, oh, I don't know, Kathleen Turner teaching Meryl Streep how to kiss. (Maybe you do but you shouldn't admit it.) Old love is meant to be quaint and asexual. Seriously. I love Emma Thompson. I might even be willing to see her play one more Jane Austen character in love, but I refuse to see Dustin Hoffman caught in flagrante delicto.

Fortunately, I didn't have to. Apparently, the director was with me on this, you politically correct cowards. Despite the proliferation of Cialis commercials, we like to keep our more senior citizens properly clothed and relegated to the roles of "old codger," "crazy old bat with a small dog" or all-knowing earthmama or papa. (Don't look at me. I just work here.) We're only exposed to the briefest of kisses in Last Chance Harvey. Amen and thank you. Okay. You can hate me now. I know, I know. People over forty have sex. More sex than I do, I'm sure. (Please. Coma patients have more sex than me.) As painful as it is to watch Harvey Shine (Hoffman) struggle to find his place at his daughter's wedding or Kate Walker (Thompson) squirm on the outskirts of a too young blind date, it is also touching. (We older, single girls can truly appreciate the muffled crying in the restaurant bathroom.) For exposing this particular slice of humanity-being alone, out-of-place and still finding someone at any age-I thank you, old love.

EAT.

I don't know know where Kate and Harvey ate in Heathrow airport but I'm betting the food was a fair sight better than the Las Vegas Subway sandwich option I just experienced. I mean, the difference between airport eating in London versus say, Burbank, is like the difference between Harrod's and Walmart. (I can't help all the British stuff lately. I'll try to see a Japanese movie next, okay?) Anyway, I'm told that Gordon Ramsay, king of restaurant promotion, has a place called Gordon Ramsay's Plane Food in Heathrow airport. (I know. I've invoked Gordon Ramsay twice in less than a month. To Hell's Kitchen I go.) Check out www.gordonramasay/planefood, admire with ire the look of this place and explain to me why JFK/Dallas/LAX are the poor cousins of flight food fabricators. I'd fly through Heathrow on my way from L.A. to San Francisco for a chance at some of that airport fare. Europeans. Always have to do us one better.

SHOP.

Um, movie magic aside, the logistics of finding an appropriate dress to wear to a wedding reception that you have not been invited to...in less than a hour...in London...is impossible unless you are Emma Thompson shopping with Dustin Hoffman. That is why the people on the screen have costume designers to help them. Mere mortals such as you and me...well, it'll never happen that way. But just suppose there were a way to do it without the help of an entire movie crew. Voila! Peruse http://www.lastminutebridal.co.uk/ if you're suddenly inspired to matrimony in Great Britain. Of course, the true wedding capital of the world is Las Vegas so in the City of Sin, visit http://www.celebrationslvnv.com/. Just don't eat at the airport. Happy nuptials!