Last night, Mrs. Bissage and I watched “My Dinner with Andre.” It was our second time. Oddly enough, though, I don’t think I picked up much that I hadn't before. This came as something of a shock because I like to consider myself at least marginally educable. Oh well. Ha!
We intend to see it again, although Mrs. Bissage wants to put some distance in between now and then. When I see it for the third time, I know I will become fixated on the restaurant employees. This obsession embarrasses me but I can’t help it. Why do they appear when they do? What do their reactions foretell? Why was the waiter blinking in Morse code? What is the secret message? This is important. I need to figure it out. And I had better get something more for my effort than just a crummy “Be Sure to Drink Your Ovaltine®.”
But seriously, in this movie there is no sex. No violence. No eye candy. No action, really, except what’s in your imagination. But there are ideas. Oh, how there are ideas! And there is a kind of benevolent godliness to it. And there is a way to live your life.
This is not one of those ephemeral movies that might just as well have been last Wednesday’s breakfast. This is a movie to love and embrace and keep close forever. I will see it again and again and again and again.
My deepest gratitude goes out to Althouse, who recommends this movie to all her blog fans. Were it not for her, neither Mrs. Bissage nor I would have been sitting at that restaurant table with Andre and Wally. And we would have been poorer for the loss.
Because sometimes it’s best just to sit there and listen.
And to let the other guy pick up the check.