Last Saturday, the Man and I drove to the infamous Walt Disney Studios in Burbank, CA. You know you’re at Disney when you’re greeted by giant statues of un-ironically cheery dwarves. As we passed the security guard, we immediately felt a little cheerier ourselves.
We’d snagged screening tickets to view the recently released Mary Poppins Returns, with the promise that Emily Blunt would come by and answer a few questions. This sort of alluring perk is what makes being married to a stunt man totally worth it. Emily Blunt and a free movie, I felt, definitely compensated for the ups and downs of the flakiest industry on earth, and for the sweat-stained sports get up scattered around my home right now.
Emily was great, though overshadowed in my heart by the sheer awesomeness of the movie itself. Also, the Director Rob Marshall was there and I super fangirled. Chicago is my favorite Broadway-musical-turned-movie of all times, nothing can beat Queen Latifah’s breasts stealing the show to Renée Zellweger, Catherine Zeta-Jones and Queen Latifah herself.
Mary Poppins Returns is all about wonder, the wide-eyed kind of amazement you’ll see on six month-old babies’ faces as they realize they can comfortably fit every single one of their fingers into their nostrils; or on five-year olds’ faces as they realize they can fit their 6-month old baby brother into the toilet bowl and still have room to pee in it.
Have you ever noticed that with age, our wide eyes get less so? That the twinkle becomes dimmer and the eyelids heavier on eyes that have seen too much not to grow a bit jaded? We no longer see magic but magic is there, everywhere. Life is made of daily miracles that may be too small for eyes half-shut to see.
I’m a big fan of wonder and its anti-aging properties. I truly believe wonder is what keeps those who can master it - without bordering on irresponsible and desperate - young with an optimistic outlook on life. I don’t have kids and still buy myself toys to play with. Yeah, let’s not pretend we didn’t all secretly hope to find a Hatchimal under the Christmas tree this year and were disappointed when we instead ripped the shiny wrapping paper to uncover the latest, biggest, baddest state-of-the-art crockpot.
Call me crazy but if Hitler had kept on playing with his Hot Wheels (or whatever kids were into these days), things may have turned out differently… Someone please send Trump his weight in Playmobil right this instant!
Not a month ago, the Man and skipped to the music on our way into Universal studios, because walking cool, calm and collected in the land of twelve dollar pizza slices and where the Simpsons, the Mummy and Harry Potter manage to cohabit CAN’T be the way.
— Cécile Charlot