Somehow it became known that our little Kate had never seen “Titanic,” and I told her it was time, and so we paid our money, unpacked our 3D glasses, and settled in for “Titanic 3D: The Sinkening.” Like Edelstein, I liked it better this time, and I can’t say why.
No, I can: I liked it better because I’m 15 years older and no longer think it’s worth wasting energy disliking it. And having endured the Ballad of Jack and Rose part once, I’m free to waste my mind’s back channels wondering what I would do in a similar situation. Don’t we all hope we’d be heroes? That we’d make sure the right people got into the boats, and we wouldn’t be horrible, and we might even go down with the ship (and a brandy in hand, like Benjamin Guggenheim)? With one’s mind so engaged, I was less bothered by Billy Zane’s character calling Rose’s Monet canvases “finger paintings.”
The film does have one indelible image, for me — the debris field of corpses, floating in their life preservers, their cries gradually going out, like candles.
Friends, I am crushed on my other fronts, and will be for another week. After that? Smooooth sailing. (I hope.) Can you forgive a few more days of lameness? Because I don’t have much more. There’ll be dibs and dabs, but for now, for me, it’ll be work and iPad solitaire until I fall into a heap.
May Day, we’ll have a parade.