Gone

Rhett and Scarlett in "Gone with the Wind,"
which celebrates its 75th
anniversary this year.

Three quarters of a century ago,
movie makers had to get permission
from morality police for Rhett to tell the
lovely Scarlett that he (frankly) didn't give a damn.
Epic movies, epic scenes, and scripts that kept
you hanging onto every word that
didn't need a lot of F-bombs to be relevant,
cheap sex to sell the tickets. Classy stories,
leaving more to the imagination, seem so
quaint today. And smoky. Lots of people
smoked onscreen, giving not-so-subtle nods to
all those companies that made their millions
on tobacco. Today the cigarettes are out,
as well as almost everything and everyone
and every situation, graphic detail and FX
that make you feel like you are there in
someone's bedroom, getting shot at in 3-D.
Maybe spending time at Tara would
be pleasant for a change, although the times were
(truth be told) more horrible than anything
I've watched upon the screen of late.
Scarlett's selfishness and pride were nothing
in comparison to all the prejudice and hate, but still,
the film's a classic and Clark Gable's easy on
the eyes, and I remember my delight at
finding out that books are so much better
than the shortened versions, but to see it
all play out in living color, what a treat,
and with a tub of buttered popcorn, even better.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2014