You Will Meet a Tall Dark Stranger

Last night I went to see Woody Allen’s new movie “You Will Meet a Tall Dark Stranger” with a divorcee friend of mine.  The only stranger I met there, unfortunately, was my ex-bf Marc, doing his best wound splitting moves by sitting behind me with a date clutched on his arm.  To be honest, he actually didn’t seem to be reciprocating her affections even before he saw me, but of course I would not be the most unbiased source on that.  The ironic thing is that almost every one of my friends has been going through major relationship turmoil.  In fact, Tobey and I even said on Thursday that not getting laid has never looked so good to us.  I guess the universe just wanted me to have to deal with a little of my own personal drama.

As I sat there, though, I realized that it only really affected me tangentially.  Despite his short stint as Mr. Dreamy, Marc is not the guy for me.  I mean, c’mon, the man was wearing a gray sweatshirt and sweatpants this week after yoga class.  I’m not really interested in dating a guy who wears Old Man Garanimals.  Comfort is important but there are many ways to do it stylishly.  Just take a look at my 74-year-old dad.

Aren't my parents a dishy couple?

Moreover, “You Will Meet a Tall Dark Stranger” was engaging enough to forget about him.  It was perfect for me last night because it brought up many of the issues that have been rattling around my head.  My poem “What is Enough?” on Friday really seemed to touch a nerve, or simply provoke some questions, for my readers.  One sweet fellow divorcee blogger, Jenn, is concerned that I am still really love with my ex and doesn’t want to see me get hurt.  Well, in case I was feeling nostalgic towards my ex, there were a few scenes in this movie that were sharp reminders of why we are not together.  All the male characters had some part of him to offer.  There was the aging man who breaks up with his wife, gets a younger girlfriend and then out of the blue asks his wife to try again, without the least bit of wooing.  There was the sexy Hispanic boss who pours his heart out to his employees about his marital troubles.  And then there was the writer who struggles with his sense of self-worth because he feels like his success never matches his potential.  The latter ends up breaking up with his wife and getting together with the woman that he has lusted after from across the alley.  Their flirtation begins when, from his window, he spies her getting undressed.  When he eventually moves to this woman’s apartment, the attractive woman that he lusts after then becomes his ex-wife, who he can now seeing undressing.  Apparently a woman is always sexier on the other side of the alley.

These characters reminded me that there are reasons why my ex and I aren’t reconciling.  A lot of water has gone under the bridge, or across the alley as it were.  Watching the frustrated author and the frustrated gallery owner blame each other for not realizing their dreams hit close to home for me.  I have since made peace with my career choices.  However, my ex and I still have the maddening habit of competing with each other and quibbling over which one of us has suffered more.  There is nothing that I am less proud of than attempting to argue for my own victimization.  I don’t do it often, but I do it.  I have learned to catch myself in the process and to acknowledge that I am much better off counting my blessings than enumerating my sorrows, but there are still certain responses that only he seems to elicit from me.

As I watched this sardonic, depressing movie about people’s unfulfilled dreams and desires with my ex-boyfriend behind me with a new woman, I was briefly tempted to succumb to feelings of despair over how life doesn’t turn out the way you want it to.  But then I realized that the film was so dark and venal as to be absurd.  I bet even Woody Allen had to laugh at it.  Life is clearly not about trying to achieve a certain set of goals and living happily ever after.  Yet it’s also not about having your dreams thwarted and living in bitter resentment.  Nor is it about ending your marriage, realizing your error and running back to your wife in an attempt to recreate a mythic past.

What life is about, in my book, is resilience and perspective.  It’s about learning from your mistakes and feeling exhilarated to try anew.  It’s about knowing that you are a stronger person from having stumbled and persevered.  It’s about coming to a deeper understanding of yourself and what constitutes real happiness.  Hence Allen’s neurotic characters, as they have probably done for many people over the years, provided me with some schadenfreude, or enjoyment of other’s misfortunes.  Unlike these people who made anxious messes of their lives, I have survived and have had a lot of fun along the way.  So to those who may worry about me, I say, worry not because living well is the best revenge.  Looking behind me and seeing Marc squirm with his new woman while I laughed raucously at the movie with my gal pal was all the reminder I needed of that.

By the way, check out A.O. Scott’s review of the film in the New York Times.  I always appreciate his perspective.

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