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Two and counting


I have watched Stranger than Fiction for two straight nights now, and probably will again in the near future. And I just bought the darn movie only this Thursday last.

There's a light but somewhat profound meaning to it; Will Ferrell definitely looks and acts the part of Harold Crick quite well -- a semi-serious role which is a welcome break from the awkward, edgy, and slapstick-ish comedy he's usually type-casted in. I especially liked the screenplay, particularly the long monologue by Emma Thompson at the end. I cannot explain it fully; I can only say that I appreciate the extraordinary brilliance and the profound cheesiness of it all.

And then there's Maggie Gyllenhaal.

I fell in love with her here, with her racerbacks and her black bra straps and her very un-model like body and the absolutely adorable way she says "cookie". I like how she looks so unlike the prevailing benchmarks for beauty these days; while simple and unpretentious, there is a grace to her, a charm that makes you feel comfortable, as if you've known her your whole life. In this movie, at least. I haven't the foggiest idea of how she is in real life, and I really don't care. All I know is that I want to hear her again, saying "cookie", and see her again, with her legs on top Harold's lap while they watch old movies together.

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