I was watching the thriller Run on Sunday night -- strong, but flawed in some key ways -- and I noticed something that has become outdated in our real lives, but lives on in the movies: the paper grocery bag.
You know the one I'm talking about. Of course you do. But for formatting reasons, I need to hem and haw for a few more lines here so I can fit it in while not encroaching on the movie poster to your right.
What shall we talk about? I'll give you a topic: "The Spanish Inquisition was neither Spanish nor an Inquisition. Discuss." (Thank you, Coffee Talk with Paul Baldwin/Linda Richman.)
It's this guy:
It's forever more cinematic than the alternatives we actually use, such as this:
Or in my house, something like this:
It's just one of many ways movies knowingly veer away from what is realistic to what is considered aesthetically rich. Those old paper bags are a delight as part of a set design. They reveal a few goodies bursting forth from the top, they crinkle, and they hold their shape on the counter, as opposed to spilling out their contents like the various and sundry assortment of cloth bags acquired over the years in our real kitchens.
It's just the latest of many chosen elements of a set design I have discussed on this blog, such as "cars that are two decades old look better than new cars," "people don't wear seatbelts and/or helmets in movies" and "flip phones look so much better than smartphones, even if no one has flipped a phone in more than a decade."
Run also uses a classic landline, not with a rotary dialpad at least, but one of those ones shaped like a miniature and slightly deflated loaf of bread, with its spiral cord perfectly spiraling and stretching across a room. All to the good of course.
I thought I might have a little more to say in this post, but in truth, I am preparing for work, and I just thought it was time to end the nine-day drought without a post on this blog.
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