So, Amy took me to see The Time Traveler's Wife today. I hadn't read the book, but I adore Rachel McAdams (admittedly, more for her bitchy portrayal of Regina in Mean Girls than anything else, but STILL!). It's definitely not a typical Amy movie, though (you know, classic chick flick and all that), so it was a nice surprise. I hadn't been to the movies in the middle of the day in quite a while.
And then I remembered...football season kicks off tonight. Aha! She's just paying up in advance.
But it was a decent movie, nonetheless. Although I didn't much care for the male lead. And I felt like I walked away with a ton of unanswered questions, like why, if his passing this gene onto his own spawn was such a forgone conclusion, wasn't it made clear why or whether his own parents were time travelers. And what was the purpose of his traveling anyway? You know, like in Quantum Leap, righting the wrongs and all that? And if it was just an "affliction," a genetic anomaly, why weren't there others, support groups, research? And although they did hit a high point for me when they just touched on the idea of her fetus traveling out of the womb, they never go into why his daughter finally survives her gestation, or why she's able to control hers, but he had absolutely no control over his whatsoever.
It began to just get...annoying!
And maybe all those answers actually are in the book (although I kinda doubt it), but mostly, besides feeling a little empty, I'm left feeling a little insulted. As if we, as women, are such suckers for sap and mush, that we'll be perfectly fine with a vacuous storyline so long as there's hopeless love and unattainable eternal happiness. I mean, I'm the biggest hopeless romantic there is. I am. But even I can't be swayed by a one-dimensional plot and a pretty face.