Robert McNeill: Why chick flicks just make me run away
I regret to announce that I will not be going to see Eat Pray Love, starring Julia Roberts, as it strikes me as yet another ruddy chickflick about women running away — the operative expression — to find themselves.
The last time I was persuaded to view one such effort, it was on the grounds that the heroine was a writer. “I think you'll like it,” said my then significant other (now, needless to say, otherwise insignificant).
We trundled along to the small local cinema where, regrettably, within minutes I was soundly dozing.
The funny thing is that, after I was prodded awake, a snort came from the other end of the row, where another fellow's head had fallen forward onto his chest as he too was overcome with excitement.
For a blissful period, before I was woken up (and he too, some moments later), we must have looked like a pair of head-on-chest bookends.
That film was rubbish.
Can't remember the title, but there was nothing in it about writing and, far from finding herself, the heroine, if I remember rightly, found herself a Greek or Spanish waiter.
The heroine of the latest effort finds yoga, which is available at your local community centre, and does not require swanning abroad in a marked manner.