I am sitting on my couch, watching one of my favorite movies ever--Stranger than Fiction. It stars Will Ferrell and Maggie Gyllenhaal and Dustin Hoffman and Emma Thompson. I don't know why this film appeals to me so much. Ferrell plays IRS agent Harold Crick who discovers that he's a character in a novel by reclusive writer Karen Eiffel (Thompson). It's a love story. It's a tragedy. It's a comedy. It's postmodern. It's old-fashioned. It sort of defies categorization.
A few years ago, my DVD of the movie got scratched. It started jumping and skipping. I threw it away, and I've missed it ever since. This Christmas, my sister bought me a new copy of the DVD, and last night, I watched it for the first time. I'm watching it again tonight. Yes, I love this movie that much.
I'm also really tired. I spent the day shopping and decorating for the New Year's Eve party at my parents' house tomorrow night. The cheese and crackers are bought. The crescent weenies are cooked. The streamers are streamed. It's been a very long day.
I'm almost at the end of the movie. Emma Thompson and Will Ferrell have finally met. Death is looming for Ferrell's character. Dustin Hoffman just explained the nature of tragedy to him. I'm telling you this movie is full of beauty and poetry. And it's a Will Ferrell film.
There aren't many perfect days. With Stranger than Fiction in the DVD player and 2013 looming, Saint Marty is having a favorite thing kind of perfect day.
Confessions of Saint Marty
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