I’ll admit it, sometimes even the most passionate fan can be wrong. Many years ago I would tell anyone who would listen about how Michelle Pfeiffer was the Queen of all she surveys in modern film. But that was before I’d experienced Prelude to a Kiss and the breathtaking presence of Meg Ryan. Oh sure, I had already seen When Harry Met Sally, but I still wasn’t prepared. It came as a shock to Michelle and myself, but like that, the spell was cast. Pfeiffer’s Ice Princess shattered into a million shards, Meg was the new queen.When I gazed upon her, it was immediately apparent what separated her from the dozens of other willowy blondes in their movies. There was a freedom in Meg’s physical work that was unique and very special. She would suddenly make a move that couldn’t have been called for in any script, the kind of playful move that was more real than cute. Meg and co-star Alec Baldwin steal the first act of the film, as an esoteric romance blooms between them.Then, in the space of barely one scene, Prelude to a Kiss turns into a quirky body-switch flick as an old man approaches Meg and their lips meet. Much like the film this post is in danger of taking an unexpected turn; into wild reminiscence and mawkish sentimentality. So before I lament that Meg’s reign is over, and the new queen, and old queen’s pictures are out of the theatres, enjoy if you will, Meg as Rita Boyle in Prelude to a Kiss, just don’t try and overthink the premise.
Like the woman in The White Hotel people really do struggle their whole lives just to die in lime pits. And not just in books. Women go blind from watching their children being murdered.
Not in this country they don’t.
No they get shot on the sidewalk in front of their house in some drug war. What happened to you- passed from one parent to the next.
I’ll be lying in bed late at night, and I’ll look at the light in the room, and I’ll see it all go up in a blinding flash, in flames, and I’m the only one left alive. And I can’t look at you sitting there without imagining you…..dying, bursting into flames.
No wonder you can’t sleep.
The world is a really terrible place. It’s too…precarious. And you want kids, obviously. I wish I could say I did.