Went to "Sunday At The Opera," run by my friend, Mary Ann Van O. at our clubhouse. It was the 1949 movie (set in the 1890s), Midnight Kiss, starring that talented tub of lard, Mario Lanza, and big-boobed Kathryn Grayson. It wasn't an actual opera, of course, but included arias and songs stuck into an incredibly contrived "plot"--I use the word advisedly--that from first word to last embrace, was predictable as the sunrise.
However, I liked it. True, I regard the era of the fifties (this was heading into them) as the most rigid, stilted, conformist, and least conducive to creativity possible. If you were at all "different"--handicapped, African-American, old, poor, or whatever--you were made to feel a lesser human. Yes, for all the present stupidity and excesses, I'm happier now than I was then. (The shrinks can chew on that if they want.)
I guess it's perverse, but what I enjoyed about this movie was its artifice. The eyelashes on Miss Grayson--three inches long and curly! Her shape--nineteen-inch waist and 36-D+ bust! The singing must have been pre-recorded, as it looked as if she could barely breathe, let along rev up for those ten-second trills. I'm pretty sure Mario was encorseted, too, and his perfect, over-all tan was surely sprayed on. David Niven was about the only one who seemed un-robotic. He was so elegant and his acting was so effortless and right, you wished Grayson had chosen him instead of the mugging meatball she--predictably--did.
Anyway, if I had to be inside, it was a reasonably pleasant way to spend a summer Sunday.
Of course, I'd rather be basking on the French Riviara.