A Geezer’s Notebook, By Jim Foster
Last night Mary and I watched a delightful little family film on Netflix. It dealt with the common everyday trials and tribulations young couples often face in married life, like murdering for hire, extreme violence both at home and in the workplace, and what to do when spending a quiet evening together, all activities young couples often face as they start off down the road of life, The movie was Mr. and Mrs. Smith.
The actors were the ever-popular Angelina Jolie and Bradley Pitt, both action stars who are quite at home blowing the crap out of bad persons. Just a bit of a warning here, it may not be suitable for the faint at heart or anyone subject to wild mood swings when discussing the day’s events with a loved one or failing that, a spouse.
The Smiths are an average couple except they have managed to keep their real occupations secret from each other, and that occupation is murdering people. Most married couples, although not all, have at least a rough idea what their loved one does during the day (burglars, hooker-persons and lawyers may not want that information to get out and very likely would want to keep it a secret). Quite by accident, the Smiths are hired to remove the same person from the active citizens list and as they say in the medical profession, the feces hits the fan.
On the surface the Smiths are, like most fun-loving Americans, gun owners. The exception in their case is both have arsenals considerably larger than that of the Canadian Armed Forces hidden in their home. Just how they managed to secrete a warehouse of military hardware in the family shack without their beloved finding out is beyond me. I am not allowed to peek into Mary’s underwear drawer without her permission which after ten years of marriage I have never received. Nevertheless, Bradley and Angelina managed to do it. (I don’t know about Angelina’s underwear drawer but if there is a semi-automatic hidden in there the answer is no.)
To make a long story short, the happy couple decide to kill their beloved and set out to do so. And as folks bent on murdering each other often do, they immediately go out to dine in a fashionable restaurant. Here they manage to frisk each other while dancing a tango which ends rather abruptly when Mrs. Smith blows up the ladies room emptying the restaurant and likely several bladders. I know mine let go and I was home on the couch.
One thing that I found quite disturbing is every diner in the place ran out on the street, and as far as I can ascertain, not one paid their bill or left a tip for the server-person – pretty shabby if you ask me. Bradly also blew up a U.S. Mail box and that is a no-no.
There is the usual household spat scene back home where they blow holes in the walls with shotguns, bazookas and other highly-advance weaponry shooting at each other. After several hundred thousands of dollars damage, they discover they actually love each other and proceed to consummate their love all over the place without Angelina taking her bra off, which, I assume, is an American thing. I can never understand those people.
However, their employers, as employers often do, put out a hit on both of them and blow their house up. Here things get a tad violent. I forgot to tell you they wrecked both their cars on the way home, so they broke into a neighbour’s garage and stole his. Away they go in a flurry of horse-droppings and small stones, running over a number of pursuers whilst heading for God knows where. During the chase – without wearing seat belts I might add – they cross the Brooklyn Bridge which I found confusing since I thought they were in San Francisco. In the exciting high-speed chase they destroyed several hit-persons out to get them finally ending up in a high-end department store.
How they got in there I have no idea. At that moment I was in the kitchen trying to dry the couch cushions.
By the time I got back the Smiths had blown away a battalion of bad guys and Bradley was bleeding because his missus accidentally threw a knife hitting him in the leg. He seemed annoyed. As the film ends we see the happy couple in a psychiatrist’s office smiling even though their house is a smoking ruin, they have destroyed dozens of cars and there seemed to be some problem with the insurance company. Bradley had written the cheque but it was in the mail box he had just blown up.
I loved the movie (Mary thought it was stupid, but she’s a woman and women don’t understand these things) but I have to confess I do have a problem with Mr. And Mrs. Smith. In the whole movie we did not see one member from the gay community or anyone who identifies as LGBTQ+. Somebody should be looking into that.