sorry Hollywood.. I think the french won this one.

Okay, so my husband is what you might call a bit of a movie buff-snob. I can't tell you the last time we actually went out and saw something on the big screen--- I think it might have been Shrek---- but, when it comes to knowing his movies, I don't know anyone else that has logged the kind of hours my hubby has.

Praise be to Netflix! (end shameless corporate homage).

This is how it's rolled: My hubby, bless his heart, decided a good while ago (more than a year--- I don't even pretend to keep track of time anymore) to take care of his mortal temple by jogging on our treadmill several times a week. Fast forward many months into the future, and said hubby has lost a net total of 70+ pounds. Which, if you're like me and numbers don't really always make sense to you, is a BIG deal.

Seventy+ pounds is a lot of movies.

Of course, Mike doesn't just go for the stand by shoot-em-up blockbusters. Nope. Mike likes movies with subtitles. Because you can actually follow the story without blowing your speakers while jogging on the treadmill, a contraption louder than our washer (a difficult feat, believe me). Well, and also because movies with subtitles are BETTER than your stand by shoot-em-up blockbusters. They have synopsis lines that make me depressed just reading them (a mark of a truly good movie, in Mike's book). An couple examples:

This inventive drama charts the disintegrating relationship between newly married twentysomething Justine and her melancholy sister, Claire, just as Earth hurtles toward certain collision with a newly discovered planet. 


Abandoned by her husband in a country foreign to her, a Colombian struggles to take care of herself and her two children on the streets of New York. 

Now, I'm not trying to diss on Mike's preferences. To each their own and all that--- but I'm the kind who likes to read the book jacket before I commit myself to anything. I want to know that things won't be too terribly sad, and even if they are, the story itself is redeemable. If it's not, then I'm really hesitant. Mike, on the other hand, seems to be drawn in by the experience itself, whether it's a fatalistic end-of-earth tale or the underdog who never gets a break. The more down to earth and real-feeling, the better. The words Criterion Collection or Swedish turn of the century psychotic thriller make him salivate, while for me, anything with the words Tina Fey or comedy tour can make me pop up and pay attention.

I tend not to pay much attention anymore to what Mike watches. I've never been a patient movie-watcher anyway, and even when I am, I have a tendency to talk my way through the boring confusing parts. Hollywood was made for attention spans like mine. I'm the movie goer sitting behind you that you swear is drunk or on something, simply judging from the enthusiasm of my.... uh, engagement?

I like to talk to my characters. Sue me.

Suffice it to say, it's taken most of the decade we've been together for Mike to convince me to watch something in its entirety with him.


Enter last night. 


It was a pretty typical night. Me, on the couch with my laptop, Mike, on the treadmill scrolling through Netflix (go corporate America!). Me saying I'll probably head to bed soon, Mike saying that he's just gonna jog and be right in.

And then he started his movie.

To fully appreciate the moment, let me try to explain it this way: Jason Bourne + Eiffel Tower + mobsters + The Rock agile enough to jump through spaces the size of a front loader dryer door.

Getting it yet?

If you're more of the visual kind, maybe you want to see it yourself: It's called District Twelve. It's French. And be advised: There's two of these bad boys!

Enjoy!