Wrangler Dani

Lately several people have asked me for my review of Julie and Julia. Actually, that’s completely untrue. Nobody’s asked, which is why I’m dying to tell you and get it out of my system. (Incidentally, why is it that people never ask you about the things that you really want to talk about? Why do we find ourselves discussing the weather 82 times per day?)

Since I’ve heard some disparaging reviews of Julie and Julia, I’m going to attempt to tell you why I loved it and why you should too. Just watching the trailer again left me in a tearful mess, so prepare yourselves.

Perhaps it’s because I’m still a newlywed, or maybe I’m just a sap, but I loved the relationships between the leading ladies and their husbands. It was so refreshing to see a movie where nobody’s secretly dating anyone else or daydreaming about ex-somebodies, but both spouses are genuinely in love and aching for each other in the beautiful give-and-take that a good marriage is.  Julie was intense, and some might even say too much so, but I could so identify with her yearning for something more out of her life, and clinging to this project with a fierceness that feels forced, but only because it comes from such an indescribable place. I’m intense. I know this. I can be hard to live with, hard to calm down, hard to understand, even for myself. But I have a husband who believes in me, who without fail will assure me, as Eric did Julie, that I am a writer, and he is kind and strong and loving in all the ways that I need him to be. I’m the emotional one, the one who has meltdowns because something spills or one too many bottle caps are found beneath couch cushions, but he still loves me, flaws and all.  I loved how Eric calls Julie, pretending to be a client and when asked what his claim is, replies: “Too much food, not enough sex.” It’s an honest, manly, hilarious moment that makes me ashamed of all the times that I’ve responded to the boyish humor of my husband with a Julie-like, prim answer: “That’s not funny.” He replies, “It’s kind of funny,” and Julie can’t help but smile and admit it. I love that. Without the unfailing love of these incredible men in our lives, what kind of women would we be?

When Paul tells Julia, “Your book will change the world,” I bawled my eyes out right along with good ol’ Meryl. It’s the greatest gift we can ever receive, to be believed in with such Earth-moving power. Paul and Julia rejoiced in one another’s every success and relished each other’s company in a well-cared for, seasoned marriage. In a generation of desperate housewives and bored, frustrated men, don’t we need this kind of model, to encourage us that love is worth keeping and a marriage is worth protecting?

I also love the idea that “Julia Child wasn’t always Julia Child”. I talk a lot about dreams and hopes and fears on this blog, and sometimes I get caught up in the fears part and forget the rest. I can identify with Julia needing “something to do” and her competitive exuberance.  I understand Julie’s “Cobb Salad lunch” and the dreaded work conversations that leave her wondering why the life of success and personal assistants has left her behind. I love the hope of this movie. I love that it all started with loving to eat and needing a project, and grew into friendships and life goals and unexpected blessings.

This movie made me laugh, made me cry, made me want to try harder and hope fervently and not give up. Also, I think I need a copy of Mastering the Art of French Cooking, because I, along with all the other servantless American cooks, dearly love butter.