Of truth and love

Ugh. I'm going to have to tell you something I'd rather not have to confess to anyone: I saw a horrible movie on the weekend. I knew it was going to be cheesy and shallow, but I thought it's brand of silliness would be charming, and as it features a Scottish fellow I'm rather fond of, I thought it would be a rather harmless way to spend an hour and twenty minutes on a Saturday afternoon.

Well, cheese it had, of the stinky kind. It was shallow, and like most shallow water it was a little rancid and stale. It was silly, in the way that boy humour is silly, and its charm was rather hidden and fleeting.

However, ugly as it may have been, it did tell some Truth. The movie is about relationships, and how supposedly love works. The main characters were stereotypical male (sexist womanising pig) and female (controlling, demanding, with a list of requirements for her perfect mate). He led her to believe that a woman has to pretend to be something she isn't, to be pleasing, emptyheaded, a confused blend of sinner and saint and so on. He thought there was no such thing as love, that lust was all there was. She treated men as products to be tested and assessed, discarding the ones who didn't measure up to her impossible criteria.

The real Truth, however, was in the revelation they each had that a) love is real; b) it doesn't look like you thought it would; c) it doesn't conform to a list of ideals, and often doesn't make sense; d) love usually happens with the person you are you with, no hiding, pretending, or protecting.

I don't think the writer or director intended this movie to impart wisdom, but somehow those little gems shone through. I don't recommend you see it yourself, but isn't it good to know that even stinky cheese can have some substance to it?