I have this nonsense little quirk of sighing at the end of conversations with a ‘’Life’’ in succession, all like a gigantic period to one heck of a dramatic conversation.

I probably began doing this as a result of my oh-so-dramatic life (yeah I wish! I really have no idea why!) but now it is just one lousy habit I can’t rid myself of.

Sometimes after my proclamation of ‘’life’’ I pause, but for a moment to wonder, what on earth was so ‘’life’’ deserving of that conversation, but then I remember, it is all a part of life, no matter how mundane.

Why did I just say all that? I have a point I swear!

My point is the two lives that exist within and alongside each other, the one we live every day, that sure as anything deserves to be lived and the other, the more latent life around us, beside us, within us, that is there, just awaiting to be discovered, to be ceased, to be acknowledged, to be lived.

Enter The Secret Life of Walter Mitty.

I just want to take a moment to pause and shed a teardrop.


I went for it a few weeks ago although I hadn’t heard anything much about it, what with Wolf of

Wallstreet being on every tongue and everything. Random pick. (I do that with movies and books a LOT).

Initially I was a little tied up as right before entering the theatre I received a text which blew my top off in anger, and was thus glued to my phone for a good fifteen minutes texting my fingers off in fumes and flames, glancing up at the screen only occasionally and asking my friend whom I was with to fill me in. I had to put my phone away soon though, mostly because I was too angry to text a moment more, and also because my battery was nearly dead, furthermore I had a feeling my friend would walk out of the theatre if I asked to be filled in one more time. What can I say? All on cue.

I felt slightly out of sorts for a little while and began to think I had made the wrong call with this movie (right around when Walter meets Cheryl’s son, for those of you who’ve watched it) wondering if I should expunge my mind from the remainder of the film when something clicked. It was probably the kid with the skateboard and Walter as he showed him a few tricks. It was the first glance I got into seeing something more than a drudged, incoherent, blithering, day dreaming, fool on screen and the first spark I saw in him. With Cheryl, with Rich and with that skateboard.

From that point on it was all a tale of hook, line and snicker.

The movie was so unusual, with an almost neurotic mix of lame comedy, subtle humour, a thin yet powerful thread of romance and of course, incalculable amounts of drama and adventure. It couldn’t have worked, except it did, for some reason I can never fathom.

A tale told over continents, oceans, mountains and volcanoes, this one expedites any mutant’s stunted journey towards passion, fulfilment and self discovery.

Walter Mitty’s is a story told to revive, perhaps not a perfect story, but one with a mammoth voice and one worth listening to.

If you already haven’t, please watch it. You deserve it.  



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