Mamma Mia!

Okay, I admit that I haven’t seen Mamma Mia. I’m not really a fan of ABBA, and when I say that, I am being kind. To me, having to sit through 90 or more minutes of ABBA or impending ABBA songs is one of the things that (again just my opinion) should be outlawed by the Geneva Convention.

It’s rated PG-13 right? So I was a bit confused when Clooney came home yesterday and said he had watched it at school. He’s in a classroom with 3-6-year-olds, and while a lot of the themes of the film may go over their heads because it’s all wrapped up in the singing and the dancing, well, I’m still kind of uncomfortable with that.

When I think of Farrah Fawcett, this is the picture my mind conjures.

I don’t think of myself as a prude, but I do believe that some things should be private. As with many of my beliefs, this seems to be an anachronistic view in the twenty-first century. Like I don’t think anyone should be filming Farrah Fawcett while she’s dying in a hospital bed. How can you be that camera man? How can you film someone vomiting into a kidney dish? I didn’t watch it, but I did catch like three minutes of the rerun on some cable channel late at night. I had to watch for just a minute, just so I could stare in disbelief. What’s wrong with people? Who wants to watch that? I mean — god forbid it should happen to anyone, and their family should have to watch that happen to them in “real life.” You’ve got to live this sad vicariousness through Farrrah Fawcett?

But then I think, well, she had to say, “Okay go ahead and film this,” right? And I don’t know how to feel about that. I don’t know whether to find that incredibly courageous or tremendously sad.