Once upon a time, I wrote a poem that made some allusions to Julia Child’s sex life. When I workshopped the poem at my writing group, I saw some eyebrows raise at the very notion. Upon seeing the Julie and Julia film, I feel vindicated. Watching Meryl Streep and Stanley Tucci play Julia and Paul child made me think about acting and feel amazed that two people could simulate, for the screen, the intimacy that they achieved. At one point, I found myself transfixed by Tucci’s fingertips as he reached for Streep. Then, I remembered that I was supposed to be watching the movie.
I had read Julie Powell’s book, Julie and Julia, quite some time ago and was looking forward to seeing it onscreen. I was not disappointed. I had forgotten, having read the book a few years ago, that Powell was on the cusp of her thirtieth birthday when this whole thing was happening. Suprise, surprise, on the cusp of my own decade birthday, I found myself relating to that portion of the movie. Julie strove to turn herself into a cook, essentially. I have worked toward becoming someone who runs. Somehow this movie made me think of what I have accomplished running-wise and feel good about that. You won’t hear me complaining about a movie that makes me feel good!