A film that could just as easily been called “Cosmo’s Moon” or “Three Dates”, but I guess “Moonstruck is… fine. I mean, what do you call a film that really isn’t about anything in particular?! My favourite type of movie, that’s what! In fact, it’s a tone I seek to capture in my own writing, even the action-packed space opera. I just love rambling melodramas. So sue me.
I’ve seen this one before, but a looong time ago. Basically, I had no memory of what it was about before sitting down to the Blu-ray this evening, except for the famous “Snap out of it!” moment, but it really didn’t matter. I was 99% sure I’d only watch a third of it tonight and the rest over the weekend, but I just couldn’t pull myself away.
I’d recommend watching Moonstruck in a triple-bill along with Woody Allen’s Radio Days and Ridley Scott’s Someone to Watch Over Me. Coincidentally, all three were released the same year. Sure, the latter is a violent crime thriller, but it has a similar vibe to the other two. Essentially, they’re all cosy New York films featuring poor immigrant families who experience a taste of “how the other half live”. Those aren’t the plots you’ll read on the back of the boxes, of course, but more a meta-theme.
How the fuck do you cheat on Loraine Bracco?! Go figure.
It’s always a treat seeing Olympia Dukakis, without a doubt the sexiest woman who ever lived, with every one of her sarcastic looks and dry one-liners being just delightful. I was genuinely surprised to see John Mahoney in there, who rides the line between womanising scumbag and lonely romantic perfectly. But, hey, all the best Americans were born in the UK: Mahoney, Cary Grant, Veronica Cartwright, Slash, Paul Banks, Delroy Lindo.
Count ‘em!
My long-suffering neighbours probably heard me laugh out loud several times, no less during the final dinner scene where Nicholas Cage, inviting conflict, casually says to Dukakis: “Yes, Mrs Castorini, I would love some oatmeal!”. I don’t know why I found that so funny, but I think Cage knew exactly what he was doing.
Speaking of that scene, the brief argument between him and Danny Aiello, cast against-type as a spineless mummy’s boy, reminds me of an argument I am long-overdue to have with one of my own brothers. With me being Nicholas Cage, of course.
Did you really had to ask?!
I’m sure Moonstruck was buried in Oscars and truly deserving of them. It’s a film that sucks you into its own little brownstone world and ends long-before you want it to. Where did those 101 minutes go?!
Watch. Love. Eat.
And, yes, I realise I just wrote a review of Moonstruck without once mentioning Cher. So what?! I once reviewed Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! without mentioning boobs. You try that.
Do stay in touch, darlings.
Toodles!
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