Bad move this weekend. Late Saturday night (in a fit of insomnia) I re-watched Saturday Night Fever. John Travolta in all his tight-panted, long limbed glory. Oh, and the dancing was good.
Today, we caught a matinee of Hairspray, so not as absolutely-John-Waters-fabulous as the 1988 movie of which the musical was based of which the movie was based, but a fun time none the less. But up on the screen, the Tony Manero of a just 24 hours previous became Edna Turnblad, no where near as divine as Divine.
I think an ovary dried up right there in a theater.