I Wish Meryl Streep Had Been in Cineworld the Other Night

I sometimes feel sorry for artists and other creative people. They do their creative thing and then release it out into the world without really ever being conscious of the effect their work has on people. Just think of the lonely artists, convinced of the rightness of what they are doing, who die before their genius is recognised. I doubt Van Gogh, for example, is sat looking down with a smug expression saying "I told you I was good".

And even those who do get rave reviews must sometimes wish they could stand behind someone in a gallery and hear what they say about their painting, or perhaps hear someone stifle a sob or snort a mouthful of tea onto the pages of the book they are reading on the train.

The other night, as readers of my last post will know, we went to see Mamma Mia. I am fairly familiar with the British way of watching a film: sitting politely, being entertained and then leaving as soon as the lights come signifying the end. On Saturday night I experienced a different type of cinema going: people applauded as if the entertainers could hear them, they cheered in a way redolent of pantomime and danced in their seats (in fact I am sure that if one person had danced in the aisle it would have set off the whole cinema). Then at the end, when the lights came up nobody moved: they all stayed to enjoy the final songs that played over the credits, wanting to wring every last drop of enjoyment out of a fabulous night's entertainment.

What made it so special? I don't know whether it was the audience - a friend told me today that Bollywood films are often like this, with enthusiastic audiences who love to join in. I'm guessing there must be something in the film that helped us polite Brits lose our usual reserve. Perhaps it was witnessing Pierce Brosnan who clearly couldn't sing but didn't care - he just belted them out like any one of us at a karaoke night down the pub. Or perhaps it was the joyous irresistible temptation to sing along to any one of the myriad hits by Abba.

Yes, I would have loved Meryl to have been stood at the back to see what she and her co-stars had done.

Oh, and perhaps also so I could have introduced myself and told her I had loved her for twenty five years since she was The French Lieutenant's Woman.

Step Across the Gender Divide - But Tread Carefully

I stopped worrying about gender roles years ago. I'm quite happy to be going to watch Mamma Mia tomorrow night which, I am told is as "...camp as a boy scout jamboree". I'll happily sing along to the songs that blighted my childhood, and I shan't worry about growing lady parts.

But sometimes I do worry whether this 'being in touch with my femininity' has gone a bit far. Take this week for example: watching Ten Years Younger I was discomfited to hear myself say, when top hairstylist Andrew Barton had performed his almost alchemical contradiction to the saw that you cannot make a silk purse from a sows ear, "Oooh that's a nice cut isn't it" and it was. But I do feel that perhaps it should have been Mrs C that said it whilst my role was confined to a glance over the top of my newspaper and non committal grunt that signified that whilst I was prepared to be a partner in watching these predominantly female targeted programmes, I wasn't set on it being an equal partnership.

Similarly, watching Gok Wan's Fashion Fix (again in another moment of marital mateyness) I was surprised to find myself astounded by the apparent preference, of an audience of 'normal women' for Gok's economical fashion fixes rather than clothes costing many thousands of pounds and designed by from some of the worlds best. I mean, even a brute like me could tell that the cloth in the frocks alone cost as much as my car.

But then there was light at the end of the tunnel and I stopped worrying about my masculinity. It seemed that I had missed the point entirely (huge sigh of relief); it was all about empowering women to reject the style stereotypes thrust on them by the fashion fascists and rather be influenced by them to do their own thing.

Gosh.

I think in future, I'll make sure there's a copy of The Grauniad to hide behind, just in case.