By PAUL KIDWELL
I’m not generally a moviegoer. Not including the nights or afternoons we accompanied our son to the latest Harry Potter and Pirates of the Caribbean installments, my wife and I can count on one hand the number of times we have gone to see a movie in the past five years. Now that our boy is 18 and traveling with a pack of friends, we seldom are invited (actually, we’re never invited) to join him and his mates at the local cineplex. So the only movie watching we do these days is in from the couch, in the cozy confines of our living room, when as we order a pay-per-view movie or indulge in an umpteenth viewing of The Godfather or Chinatown.
There is, however, another reason why it has been so easy for me to walk out on the movies: The characters—particularly the male ones—are typically less-than-endearing and/or lack redeeming qualities, or they are larger-than–life heroes. I can’t warm up to any of these men.
Even the best-film nominees featured in Sunday night’s Oscar ceremony didn’t appeal to me enough to usher me into the cinema. However one film that was nominated for a major Oscar, best actress, did strike my fancy. The leading male character, played by Stanley Tucci, was a guy who was truly heroic in his unabashed love for his wife and in his ability to ardently support her life’s passion without paring away any of his masculinity or identity. The movie was Julie & Julia.
Julia Child and her husband, Paul, were not a couple out of central casting. Hunk and hottie would never be used to describe this wonderfully odd couple, but theirs was a love affair that could put all others to shame. It was a wonderful cassoulet of intelligence, humor, passion, respect, and food. All of us should be so fortunate at Paul Child. To be in love with a woman who makes you laugh and weak in the knees at the same time, while she serves you a forkful of sole meuniere. Guys, it just doesn’t get better than that.
Paul Child was an original Renaissance man. He learned the language of every country where he worked as a cultural liaison for the U.S. government. He also held a black belt in judo, painted (art, not houses, although I suspect he did that with aplomb as well), taught mechanical drawing, and was a curator, photographer, gourmand, and, later in life, a wine connoisseur. He had an insatiable appetite for life and learning, and looked forward to whatever came next round the corner. I would love to have spent time with him, and I envy him for living such an enchanting life and having such a captivating relationship with his wife.
For every great woman, I’d like to think there is an equally wonderful man who’s got her back. That certainly was the case with Julia Child, who, without the support of her husband, may have fallen victim to the times and stayed at home to raise a family and tend to the manor. Paul allowed her to fail at bridge, hat making and learning French, before she discovered the glories of butter and inspired legions of people, including myself, who fell in love with cooking through the antics of this big-boned woman with that melodic trill in her voice. Little did I know that I owed thanks to her unassuming, confident and inspirational husband, who had the courage to support and nourish her. In the movie, Paul tells Julia that she is “the butter to my bread; the breath to my life.” Anyone who says that to his wife deserves a special place in the male pantheon, and maybe even an Oscar.
*****
Paul Kidwell is a public relations consultant who lives in Boston with his wife and son.
