Four Christmases

This evening I stepped out on the town with a woman whom for purposes of, oh, let's say national security, I shall identify only as J., and the two of us saw the film Four Christmases.

As you know, because you've seen television commercials for this film about every fifteen minutes for the past month or so, Four Christmases stars metrosexual hunk Vince Vaughn and the lovely Reese Witherspoon. They portray an unmarried couple who, rather than deal with their dysfunctional family members each Christmas, go instead to places like Fiji. But wouldn't you know it, one year their plans go awry, and they are forced to spend part of Christmas Day at the homes of each of their parents. Old wounds are picked at, and old demons are brought to the fore. Wacky mishaps occur. People argue with one another, then make up. Babies spew all over the place. A casserole of bologna, mayonnaise, and potato chips is prepared. Old women lust after men half their age. Children kick grown men in the nuts. It's a comedy! Roll with it!

Four Christmases isn't the best film you'll see this year, unless the only other film you've seen all year is this one. But hey, it does sport five, count 'em, five, Oscar winners, and it delivers its share of laughs. Consider the pathos as a bonus.

After the movie, J. and I went to a world-class restaurant for conversation, coffee and peachberry pie. Yes, that's right, peachberry. Peaches and berries living in sin underneath the same crust! It's wild, I tells ya! Wild!