“Romeo, Romeo, Wherefore Art Thou, Romeo?”

Romeo is so beautiful, even the angels weep. - tangledpasta.net

Romeo is so beautiful, even the angels weep. – tangledpasta.net

By Mary Anna Violi | @Mary Anna Violi

   The other evening I was reading a review of the much-hyped Broadway production of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet.  This latest version stars Orlando Bloom.  While I do not personally know Mr. Bloom, I do know that his was the most gorgeous face in Pirates of the Caribbean.  He was even prettier than Kiera Knightley, and he possesses the more intriguing name, not that it is totally relevant, but I thought I would highlight my fascination with his name.  Mr. Bloom garnered rave reviews from Ben Brantley in The New York Times, which are the reviews one wants for Broadway.  Nora Ephron pointed out the power of a NY Times review in regard to a play of hers that did not receive a power positive review some years ago.  In her last book, I Remember Nothing, she chronicles the gnawing wound of a failure, and the potent trajectory of what a fine review in the venerable newspaper can do for a play or film.

Which brings me to Leonard Whiting. Not that this is the smoothest of segues from Orlando Bloom to Nora Ephron to Leonard Whiting, but it kind of works, so I am going to let it slide.  In Franco Zeffarelli’s 1968 film version of Romeo and Juliet, my eyes were riveted to that Romeo as Shakespeare’s glorious words tumbled easily from his doomed hero’s mouth.  “She doth teach the torches to burn brightly,” Romeo marvels upon first laying eyes upon Olivia Hussey’s Juliet.  Small wonder, for this Juliet was drop dead stunning, as was this particular Romeo.  When I saw the photos of Orlando Bloom as Romeo, I had that same kind of amazement.  Maybe it is the wide-set, soulful eyes, the finely chiseled features, and the ripper bods, I mean the sculpted chests of both of these Romeos, coupled with their sonorous voices, although I admit I have not seen Mr. Bloom’s Broadway Romeo, but knowing he first appears onstage clad in black leather, riding a motorcycle, makes me think his voice is just icing on the visual cake.  Admittedly, I eschew the modern trappings of period pieces, I looked beyond the contemporary setting and saw only Mr. Bloom, much like I did when I viewed Leonardo DiCaprio in Romeo + Juliet [a most silly spectacle of a film].

What does it all mean?  For one thing I count it a blessing that my heart can still quicken its pace over a hunky rendition of man.   For another, it means I am able to at least momentarily gaze beyond the outward beauty of the man and appreciate the rhythms of Shakespeare.  I must put Zefferelli’s Romeo and Juliet into the DVD player tonight and let the sonorous sounds of The Bard wash over me as I am transported to “…Verona where we lay our scene, where ancient grudge lay to new mutiny…”

Ciao for now.

 

Homage to PT

For ten years, my PT Cruiser and I traveled together in perfect harmony.  While cruising the Heartland’s highways and byways one weekend, a discernable noise like “puree” on the food processor assaulted my ears.  We limped home safely.  Monday morning PT visited our mechanic for a diagnosis.  Sadly, the prognosis was jarring. Chiefly, classic PT had what sounded like a rotary problem, a scary “shoulder” injury.  The mechanic ticked off issues that melded like watercolors in my mind.  What stood out was PT’s estimated cost of resuscitation:  $1200+.  Upon reflection, my gleaming silver PT had amassed 99,990 miles in ten blissful years together.  His oil had been changed faithfully every three months, and his oil filter as needed.  He had sped merrily along with sets of new shoes whenever the mechanic recommended replacement tires.  His fluids were replenished regularly.  He was bathed often, and then polished to a pristine shine.

After months of test-driving, I ventured to cut a deal.  Bidding adieu to PT on the dealer’s lot broke my heart, but PT would have faced further surgery within a year. Beloved PT would have to go gentle into that good night.

Heading home in our new red Rogue, I stopped by an elderly uncle’s house to give him a glimpse.

“Why-a you no-a buy-a Murano?” he asked.  “You buy-a the cheap-a car!”

I had paid in full for our Rogue, which was not, in my opinion, “cheap”.  Rogue “Rougie” and I are happy together.

Ciao for now.