The secret life
I didn’t remember when, actually. Maybe back in high school, during one of the thousand or more English classes. Or in a book, from the public library. But given that Mr. Thurber actually composed the story in 1939, it had to fit in somewhere on my timeline. Little matter.
The funny thing about certain movies is that the trailers are completely unrelated to the script. Sure, the actual images are in there, somewhere, but the bit on TV is meant to entice, not elucidate. You have to pony up to the ticket wicket, and spend the money to rent a seat and a popcorn pail. This evening, we watched The Secret Life Of Walter Mitty. Not the original with Danny Kaye. The remake, with Ben Stiller. Hollywood retells. And since this is a short story, the whole thing shouldn’t take much time. Or energy.
Actually, it does. The movie doesn’t follow a straight path to anywhere, and at several moments I thought about doing something else. But I hung in, to the end of the final credits, and I’m glad. There is a message here. Simple lives sometimes beget great moments (that’s not in the movie, just for the record).
Here’s a test, to see if you are old enough to get the premise. What is this?
I’ll leave you to watch the movie, because any more detail would be giving away too much. You’ll thank me, eventually.
And after the movie ended, I took the time to find the original short story, here. As it turns out, I had not read it in high school. Or the library. Or anywhere else. Memory plays tricks.
