I Still Lie A Lot

My favorite movie of all time is "The Earrings of Madame De..."  It's ancient (1953), it's classy, it has Charles Boyer and Vittorio de Sica.  And oh yes, Danielle Derrieux, whose butt has to be the most outrageously flaunted thing ever costumed for film.  This is a story of sublime passion where every character is sympathetic and everyone loses.  As a writer of genre (read "shallow") fiction I've often wondered why I love this film.

Well, so much for the obvious; obviously I live a life lacking in high passion.  Obviously I'm into old movies.  Obviously I wish I had a butt like Mme. Derrieux. 

No, but REALLY....  Everyone loses.  Husband Boyer kills rival de Sica, and Derrieux dies of a broken heart.  That's grim, but it satisfies me. The plot would probably satisfy Aristotle, too, if I'm correctly remembering who wrote the rules.  But do I write stories like this?  Of course not.  My protagonists always win big.  My villains are despicable and roundly deserve the come-uppance they get.  It's like the current crop of fantasy movies; morality wins, but not moral people.  Even in "Tropic Thunder" everyone is as nice as a Boy Scout and takes risks to help one another, and the gay guy gets his fella. 

Is it still possible to sneer by saying "P-C"?  If it is, I do; even while I'm laughing.  And writing.  Guess that's why I love "The Earrings of Madame De..."; no rescues.  Just like real life.  Only prettier.  And while I sneer and arrange my private generic fantasy, some carefully swaddled part of me hopes for the imaginary day when actual, well-considered morality really does win, and consequences are anticipated and accepted.  What a concept.