La tortue rouge

After I left the Grand Lake Theatre, I took the buses to Berkeley and stopped by Bongo Burger for a cheeseburger.  I went over to the Shattuck Cinemas to see my second movie of the day, “The Red Turtle.”  It seemed to mix some elements of “Cast Away” with “The Blue Lagoon.”  There was barely any dialogue.  I kept thinking about how I couldn’t possibly survive by myself on a desert island.  I would be deathly afraid of getting hurt and needing medical attention.  When the man fell into the water and had to swim underwear through a narrow path, I was afraid for him.  He built several rafts, but then he encounters that red turtle.  He ends up back at the beach every time, which made me think of Gilligan’s Island.  The island itself reminded me of Gilligan’s Island.  I would be so preoccupied with fresh water and food that I would wear myself out.  I liked the animation.  I didn’t like the ending of the movie, which made me feel bad.  I’m not sure whether the rest of audience liked the movie.  I didn’t like this movie as much as I liked “Moana” and “April and the Extraordinary World” from last year.  I returned home to watch the Partridge Family episode “The Selling of the Partridges” with Holly Near as Phyllis Goldberg, Laurie’s friend who was running for class president.  Keith was her opponent, although in the next season of the show he would be in college.  Laurie retaliated against Keith by serving him a small helping of spaghetti.  The featured song was “There’ll Come a Time.”  I tried to stay up and watch Greg Morris in Match Game 75, but I fell asleep.

This entry was posted in Movies. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s