I spent much of this past weekend watching movies.

The Prisoner of Zenda � an old favorite of my husband�s (Ronald Coleman version. I haven�t ever seen the one with Peter Sellars. I love Sellars in many things, but I really can�t picture him in this, somehow) was first on the list. Hard to go wrong with some swashbuckling silliness.

Also, we made several passes through Finding Nemo. I ordered it with a load of books I had coming and it arrived on Friday while AJ was napping. AJ has been totally fascinated with Nemo through advertising alone, and he hasn�t seen that much of that. I�m not sure how he got so excited about it. But when he got up from his nap and saw the DVD lying on the coffee table he said, �Oh, Mommy, that�s my favorite video!� The first time through we had to skip through some of the scary bits while AJ held a pillow in front of his face and occasionally ran out of the room. But once he saw the end for himself, he was reassured that everything would turn out okay and he clamored for the stuff we�d left out the first time.

This was AJ�s first Disney movie. Although I hate to give props to a giant corporation like Disney, I have to admit that this seemed like one of those parent-child moments. I have a lot of nostalgia for the Disney films I saw as a kid. In particular, when I was growing up in London, there was a run down movie theater near our house in the now chic but then slightly seedy neighborhood of Camden Town. Every Saturday, they showed a different Disney movie. The theater was located in such a way that we did not have to cross any busy streets to get there, so my little brother and I were occasionally allowed to go there alone. On the way back, we�d stop at this little Chinese shop piled high with the usually Chinatown kitsch that were treasures to us then. Little baskets. Carved dragons. Real seashells that when you put them in water bloomed paper flowers. It was an experience of that rare time when you have your first taste of independence and adventure without your parents and yet you are still totally protected.

The final movie I saw I can�t believe I haven�t seen before: Shadowlands. It was marvelous, although it�s hard not to look at Debra Winger and think, �Doesn�t this woman ever get a role where she can stay alive?� I read a lot of C.S. Lewis at one time, moving from the Chronicles of Narnia through the Screwtape Letters and into the more hardcore religious philosophy. I read Surprised by Joy, his memoir, but I don�t remember it all. I may have to take a bit of a look. For a religious skeptic like me, Lewis is easier to take than some. Perhaps its his academicism that makes me comfortable, although I�m inclined to think that it has more to do with the fact that he seems to be trying to ask � and answer -- the right questions. To me he reads as more ecumenical than I think he would have considered himself. But Shadowlands, well, it�s fundamentally a tear-jerker of a love story. It could have been absolutely dreadful, but the characterization of Lewis and his brother in particular is incredibly gentle and astute. I found myself thinking about it for a long while afterwards.

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