My parents invited me to come visit them for a long weekend, so I'm in Junction for a few low-key days.
At the moment, we're watching Le Charme Discret de la Bourgeoisie. Well, I'm kind of watching it. While it's been on, I finished reading The Paris Wife, caught up on my blog roll, and now I'm typing this, so I've only been paying partial attention. I don't think it would make much more sense if I was paying full attention, though. For example, we're just past the part where a boy poisons the milk of the man he thought was his father but is not his father according to the ghost of his mother who appeared in a closet along with a bloody mannequin of his actual father.
We were prompted to watch it after going to see Midnight in Paris last night. It is quite the moveable feast for any Francophile or English major, and while I'm still not a fan of Woody Allen's stiff and lifeless dialogue my literary Paris-loving self very much enjoyed the film.