My landlord is out of town this weekend, so the burden of household chores fell on me tonight: watering the plants, throwing out the trash, feeding the cats, cleaning the kitty litter boxes, sorting the mail. That done, I settled down in my room, with a cup of cocoa in my hand and a purring cat in my lap, to watch Finding Forrester while the laundry dried.
What an excellent piece of work, masterful even in its unassumingness. It does not seem to present itself as an epic in scope or execution, yet the film carries what would be an otherwise common story across that fine line between the formulaic and the classic. I would venture to say that Sean Connery was not even needed for the role of William Forrester: the part was written quite well enough to evoke inspiration from even lesser talents than he. (Not to say, of course, that Connery was not a splendid performer in the role of the sage eccentric. I got much practice in the Connery Accent, repeating his lines after him throughout the film. “You’re the man now, dog!”)
Thanks to Valerie for lending me the tape. Now I shall hie to bed, as I must wake up bright and early tomorrow morning to clean the bathroom.