Like many women of my age group and pop culture leanings, I have an ever-lasting and long-standing crush on John Cusack. More so than the crush myself and every punk-rock wannbee girl sprouted at the site of Randy, nee Nicholas Cage, in 1983’s classic Valley Girl, my Johnny has remained a constant.
Yes, Better Off Dead is a brilliant hoot start to finish, but the lovefest all started with Lloyd Dobler. Look past the boombox-held-aloft imagery of Say Anything and you’ll find much more in this noble boy; the earnest underachiever in the too big trench coat and a love of both Diane Court and Bavarian Dutch style pretzels. He was all I wanted in a boy. He had heart and soul and a pen.
I found redemptive qualities in Roy Dillon (1990’s The Grifters, an underrated gem of family disfunction and the double cross and co-starring a stunning Angelica Houston) and Martin Blank, the troubled professional killer back in town for a high school reunion in Grosse Pointe Blank. The con man and the killer, not all bad really, searching for love as the passageway to redemption.
There's Serendipity, a lightweight feather of a movie, but one released in early October 2001 that provided a needed and pleasant diversion as I sat nervous in the dark for two hours, flinching at anything sounding like a low flying plane. And bonus, a repeat pairing of my John-John and his bitch, Jeremy Piven. I believe in the concept of serendipity and the word ranks among my top three favorite (along with “peradventure” and “kumquat”).
I make opening weekend to see Big Daddy John in any for-the-paycheck movie he appears in (Must Love Dogs comes to mind, although I not only own the DVD, I watch it regularly).
The men in my life are aware that I can never be theirs alone. As I marry, mate and mature, my love for Mr. C does endure.