word of the day: foppish.

The best glasses worn by a leading man in a mid-90s British romantic comedy can be found on Hugh Grant's perky nose in Four Weddings and a Funeral. I know that's a narrow cateogy, but these roundish black-rimmed glasses are just precious. They say, "I enjoy dusty old bookstores, Fair Isle sweaters, quiet walks at night, and intellectual conversation." I feel there is a certain amount of self-hatred in Hugh Grant's acting. If you look at his body at work, he is obviously typecast as the fumbling, adorable Brit who somehow wins over the ladies with his stammering, earnest appeals at affection. Hugh knows this and accepts this. After all, living in London ain't cheap, and one must have a house in the country for entertaining lady guests on the weekends. So he continues to allow himslf to be cast in frothy light comedies with other veterans of this genre: Sandra Bullock, Drew Barrymoore, Julia Roberts. But as I watch him utter these cheesy lines, I can see this smirking twinkle in the back of his eyes.

He's thinking, "God, what rubbish. I bet Meg hasn't brushed her teeth after lunch today. That'll be a splendid close-up: me grimacing at her horrid garlic breath. I wonder if I should buy that Aston or not? It's obscene, to be sure, but I very well deserve a treat of some sort after today's shooting. 'Whoopsidaisies?' What kind of bluthering idiot talks like this?"

And there you have it.