Monday, November 21, 2005

Knitting 1, Harold Lloyd 0

Okay, so I have the attention span of a caffeine-soaked mosquito, but I can't help it. Last night I was exposed to the comic genius (that's the accepted term to refer to it, isn't it?) of Harold Lloyd. We watched Safety Last, The Shy Girl, and a couple of shorts... but I'm ashamed to admit that I absorbed about five percent of it. Why? Blame the seductive lure of the talkies. Blame a girl who just loves a good musical. Blame Plymouth Yarn, dammit, and their alluring "Indeicita Alpaca Boucle"... because I found myself constitutionally incapable of NOT knitting my way through the whole thing. Christmas beckons, after all! And to be fair, I am in deep doo doo in terms of finishing my planned presents. I'll make a big exception for Chaplin here, the Great Mesmer who steals my attention utterly. But for me the great appeal of movies starts five minutes after the release of the unfortunately racist milestone The Jazz Singer. I say it doesn't start *with* The Jazz Singer, because the REAL interest in Hollywood history comes when everybody starts trying to imitate it. The entire 1930s is an orgy of crunchy movie goodness - born of the ugly hag that Jazz Singer has become, but more fresh and wonderful than anything from the silent era. Can I help it that I'm a whore for a good tap dance number? I can't help it... go ahead and fall off that clock, Lloyd, you can't keep my attention away from the knitting needles.