I love Doris Day movies.
There, I’ve said it. Ordinarily I prefer a sexier, darker movie star – Elizabeth Taylor, Ava Gardner, Rita Hayworth, Natalie Wood. But Doris has some very obvious appeal.
I love the way the audience is expected to suspend its disbelief and accept that Rock Hudson’s wealthy, sexually active bachelor characters will throw out their whole swinging way of life to chase after and marry virginal Doris. We all pretend that Doris is the hottest, most irresistible thing on the planet and the movie works out just fine every time. Rock always has a stable of alluring dark-haired French girlfriends (apparently dark-haired French girls put out in the 50’s) who willingly hand him over to the stability of marriage with an inexperienced American with a football helmet hairdo and a closet-full of white evening gowns. We know this because in every movie he asks one of the girlfriends what to do in regards to Doris and they invariably tell him to go for it, dahling. At least that’s how I have it in my mind.
Of course Doris initially refuses his filthy advances, squealing in her gravelly voice that she would never! But you know she will in the end, because, well, it’s Rock Hudson and he’s rich and handsome and rakish and, well, no one knew he preferred boys back then.
I think Doris and my dog look a little bit alike:
Okay, maybe they don’t really, but I like to pretend they do.
Doris has been a pioneer in the field of animal rights, btw:
Doris Day Animal League The point of this blog? There is none, and I apologize for it’s pointlessness. I’m just watching Pillow Talk and feeling chipper enough to share. It’s hard to be depressed while this is going on:
..
Except perhaps that I’ve proven once and for all that I really am a gay man. Oops.
MISS ANTHROPE'S HOUSE OF HIGH DRAMA 