You see, as a father I was inextricably bound to charters which strangle masculinity and all its worth. Retrofitting my glory muscled machismo into a walking billboard for my daughter’s ballet class crossed a line to which I would have chosen death in any other situation. Taking her little friends to an adorable cafe called The Cupcake Factory was akin to having a crazy ex girlfriend by the name of Betty Boop. And Saturday matinees with that vivacious little perp with the chiffon smile named Anne Hathaway were torturous expeditions.
Anne was guilty by the association of unicorns and rainbows and matinees. But she’s no Mouseketeer glad hander, and time has proven me to be all wrong about the girl. And I am nothing if not humble to the occasional error (or several) my opinion will provide.
She started to sway me with her turn in Get Smart, where she was the bright light in what I considered a very unfunny flick. And then she went and did me right as the White Queen in Alice in Wonderland where she more than held serve with Johnny Depp. And then there was this year’s Oscar awards in which she held James Franco upright the entire night. She was old school plucky and divine when the brightest lights were humming. She wore her boots well and carried some chops.
So when Anne claws her way into the Catwoman role in the final Dark Knight installment, I’m all in. And it’s not for the considerable amount of sexy she will supply, because truth be told, I can’t wrap my head around seeing her in the same way I used to see Julie Newmar. One too many popcorn playdates, I’m afraid.
I just have this sneaking suspicion Anne is gonna bring the kind of cool to the Catwoman role that hasn’t been seen since the Beatles were shacked up. And my matinee experience with her will come full circle then, as I drag my daughter to see a movie she wants no part of.