I’ve spent a lot of time over the past couple of weeks on trains and I am very susceptible to advertising. “Murder on the Orient Express” has been plugged pretty relentlessly on the big screen in Heuston station. It was, therefore, perhaps inevitable then that we should go en famille on Sunday.
There was some negotiation on the timing of this. This weekend herself was out with a friend Friday morning, out with other friends Friday afternoon, at a party next door Friday night – about 70 teenagers, I applaud my neighbours – over to a friend in Kildare for a sleepover on Saturday and back Sunday lunchtime; Daniel had a play off for second place in his division of the league, they won could well be looking at promotion to division 9, and choir on Sunday morning; Michael had drama on Saturday afternoon and hockey on Sunday morning, so finding an agreed time at all was difficult. I decided we would push on even when I saw a stinker of a review in the Irish Times. We cycled in and out very successfully (back in the dark as well) and the film itself was actually ideal Sunday afternoon family fare. None of the children had read the book so the dénouement was a surprise to them. The cinematography was truly beautiful (my sister says that this is always the kiss of death for a film) and it was all enjoyable in a mild way. Herself got great entertainment from Kenneth Branagh’s Belgian accent (poor, he pronounced the f in ouefs apparently, I didn’t notice) and it was all good stuff and it prepared us psychologically for the much-regretted end of mid-term.
His moustache was even worse than his accent. That’s not how you spell mustache.
I went to see the Death of Stalin – perhaps not a family film, but entertaining, and historically informative
If you mean eggs, it is Œuf, not ouef, and the f is pronounced when singular but not when plural. I know, French is not an easy language, even for French people…
I have to say, I love you, my readers.
Viviane, you may be amused to hear that my father, who used to travel a lot to Belgium at one point, liked 2 eggs for breakfast but could never pronounce “œufs”, though unlike his daughter, I am quietly confident, he could spell it, anyhow he would say to the waiter “Je prends un œuf…non, je pense que je vais en prendre deux”.
🙂