McDishy's Version




"I'm an impulsive man, one who believes in making his own mistakes
rather than regretting things not done..."




~Barney's Version by Mordecai Richler~

Today the sun was shining and the birds sang. Metaphorically that is. Well, I'm sure the sun really came out and the birds really sang somewhere. But today that was how I felt inside.

After a very, very, v-e-r-y long week, all I wanted to do today was curl up in a ball and hide under the covers.  But, at the crack of 9:15am I hauled my flannel clad self to the kitchen and made a cup of tea.  I perused my fan mail email, checked my phone, and continued dillying around for another couple of hours. I love non-rushed dilly time.  There's far too little of it in our society at present.

After singing my lungs out in the shower to a variety of hippity-dippity fun 60's mix songs and double washing my flowing locks, I wandered around the house for awhile in my underwear and socks.  Lunch with the girls (all fabulous by the way),  followed by a movie - that was the plan for the day. Simple enough.

I connected with my movie-mate, and via the interweb, we decided on a theatre and a time. Perfect. By the way, have I mentioned that this week I've started to lose my mind in larger than normal bits? 

Off I zoomed to meet my gal pals.  My movie mate was kind enough to speak to whomever one needs to speak to regarding free parking (Sergio, in fact is whomever you need to speak to) and I had a short, crisp walk to the restaurant along the lake at the bottom of Yonge Street.

As I was walking through the parking lot, I almost walked into a cute little red car. What better way to end up with broken limbs and further brain damage than to walk into a cute little red car? I heard someone call my name. My Phellow Parrothead Bob stopped to say hello (he was dropping off his phabulous wife Candy to our ladies luncheon).  It was nice to be stopped by a friend in the city. This, after a decade, has truly become home, I thought as I finished my chilly walk up the stairs and into the warm lobby.

As the group of us talked, over an almost three hour long lunch, we learned about one another. We "networked" regarding careers and resume writing. We discussed health, spirits, husbands, mothers, memories and by doing so set about weaving together the threads of our friendships.

After our lunch, I zoomed back across the city to meet my friend for our movie. He got the seats at the restaurant and I went to the box office to purchase our tickets. We have a pattern you see - movie tickets first, which leaves time for a chat over a drink before we head in to get prime seating.  Not a bad plan. 

Now, I know that I'm a bit flighty sometimes. Despite my very serious and organized outsides, I'm a veritable tangle of anxiety lately on my insides.  As the great pharmaceutical companies try to sort that out with help from Beringer and Sterling, my little mass of grey matter is wiggling around like murky jello trying to cling to some sort of sanity. 

Surprise, surprise.  I read the movie listings wrong. I like to think that they were listed incorrectly, however, I can't swing completely into insanity by blaming it on poor transcription. Or can I???

The movie that was showing during the time slot that I wanted wasn't the one that my friend and I had agreed upon. Oh well. "Two for Barney's Version", I said, thinking that I would likely be coming back to see the flick solo. Actually, I was thinking, "Shit. Shit. Shit." Oh well. 

After having read the book, I expected to be not only disappointed in the movie adaptation, but very disappointed in the movie adaptation. A colleague of mine who has outstanding taste in art, literature and film said that she didn't care for the movie, and I based my decision to not go and see it on her critique. I'd just watch it at home. No sweat.

My movie mate, who has the same twisted taste in literature as I do when it comes to humour, was going to be disappointed, or so I assumed. I had gone on and on about how much I liked the book, and that I thought seeing the movie might would be a let down. I had convinced him to read the book first.  I was a big, fat, novel-reading hypocrite with two tickets to see Barney's Version in my pocket when I wandered into the restaurant. "I have a surprise for you, " I said, as I sat down grinning what I was hoping to be a cute yet convincing smile.

The movie was outstanding. Paul Giamatti is my new Hollywood boyfriend. I'm sorry Colin Firth, you tall, handsome, sexy, pensive pot of British man-pie, you've been bumped.  Although the movie did not capture the entirety of the book, it did capture the essence of Barney, his father, and the emotion that transcends language in our relationships.  That, or I shouldn't have had the vodka slushy drink before the show. No, it definitely wasn't the drink. This was a fabulous movie.

You see, if the director/producer/writer/whomever had made the mistake of trying to capture everything in the book, it would have flopped. If you've ever read Snow Falling on Cedars by David Guterson, and then watched  the movie, you  know what I'm talking about. There is often a discrepancy between the emotion of the written word and what is captured in moving images.

In this case, the layers that propped up Barney's life were stripped away in the making of the movie, and the show concentrated on his human nature.  Third child, hilarious forged letters, and cutting wit be damned - this movie was great.

Even if you see the movie, I would still recommend reading the book. Described in one review as having, "...an embarrassment of riches...", Barney's Version is a truly great work of literary art.

Driving home, I flicked on the oldies station. Barry White's, "My First, My Last, My Everything", came on.  I was taken back to my days with the coroner. Being  the facetious woman that I am, I would turn the volume up and do a quick little dance around my cubicle. Barry White's uber-sexy voice would drape across the office like leopard print satin sheets;

"We got it together didn't we?We definitely got our thing together don't we baby? Isn't that nice? I mean really, when you really sit and think about it. Isn't it really, really nice? I could easily feel myself slipping more and more away to that simple world of my own. Nobody but you and me.We got it together baby."

Just thinking of that, with me being a goof, and my mentor laughing her pants off at her desk, and the coroner shaking his head, well, we really do have it together. As together as it gets at any given moment in time I suppose.

The irony of that song playing in that atmosphere is one of those things that's hard to give voice to. Language doesn't quite capture the absurdity of thinking that any of us ever have it together especially as the contrast between the buttery voice and lyrics filled the spaces in that office between suspicious and untimely deaths that were neatly recorded on paper and stacked chronologically. A very nice way to create the illusion that we have it all under control.

Each of us have our stories happy and sad, funny and heart breaking. All of those stories are bundled up somewhere in that lost land that is being disputed by the pharmaceuticals, the drinks, the girl talks,solitary drives and the constant re-scrambling of how we define who we are.  The stories that get tucked away somewhere in between 9-5, the groceries, flossing, getting to lessons and practice and church on time.

Barney is the balance of light and dark in all of us. This movie will prompt you to remember all of the friends you ever had who made you laugh and cry, who held your head up, kicked you while you were down, and all of the stuff in between. Barney's Version will make you thankful for what you have, for what you've lost, and for what we all remain hopeful for

What is it that we all hope for?

You know what it is. As Barry White would say in that sexy baritone voice of his, "You're my reality, yet I'm lost in a dream. You're the first, my last, my everything."

Mazal tov.