October 28, 2012

The damn robe

Last weekend I watched "Carnival of Sinners" -- not to be confused with "Carnival of Souls". It's a French horror movie made in 1943 and there were subtitles -- which I don't mind as long as I can see them. Anyway, it's one of those pact with the devil movies. I enjoyed it.

Watching this old movie reminded me of something that always irks me. In movies from the 40s, there are often scenes where a woman goes to bed. Of course it's a canopied bed in a palatial room. And just before she tucks herself in, she lays a perfectly folded, diaphanous, multi-layered robe across the bottom of the bed.

And then she slips into bed as easily as if she was a record slipping into its jacket. (Old time reference; seems suitable. Look up "records", kids.) There is no friction. She lays still immediately and goes to sleep.

Later, she's awakened by a sound. She's still lying in exactly the same position. She slips out of bed and reaches for the robe -- which is lying in exactly the same place and position on the bed. This really bothers me.

I'm lucky if the mattress is still on the bed when I wake up in the morning. A robe laid carefully across the foot of my bed? Hah. It'd be on the floor, and somehow would have pulled itself half-under the bed.

But everything was perfect in those old days, and the most perfect thing of all was the women. Women never move when they sleep. They don't perspire. And they wake up with perfect make-up and hair. Super women, that's what they were.

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