I had the best day yesterday snuggled up in bed watching Gone With The Wind.
Apart from the fact that a girl risks bedsores sticking with a movie this long, I think it is one of the most tragic and romantic stories ever.
I saw it for the first time when I was maybe 14 and it played at a long-gone theatre in Wellington called The Roxy. Anyone remember that? Anyway, much as I love it, the giant flaw that struck me then strikes me still.
Ashley Wilkes – are you kidding?
Who in their right mind is going to obsess over that twit when they could be having the time of their life with Rhett Butler?
Sure Ashley’s perfect for saintly Melanie (nice to know those sort of people exist but seriously no fun on a girls’ night out) but for Scarlett?
Ashley has no spine, greasy hair, a big girl’s bottom and the sex appeal of an uncooked ham.
Rhett, on the other hand, with his sarcastic wit, his sparkling eyes, his height, his shoulders, his confidence, his honesty, his smouldering sensuality – what was she thinking?
Every time I watch it, I hope Scarlett will come to her senses sooner. I certainly would have, but then the film would have ended after just five minutes with me chasing Rhett down the Twelve Oaks driveway waving my pantaloons in the air.
Might not have been such a hit.