Last night we watched the movie Trog, with Joan Crawford and a man in a monkey suit - oh, strike that - he was a half-naked man with a monkey head and a tiny tuft of fur like a fake moustache on the back of each hand.
Crawford's last film, and all I can say after watching it is - you go, girl.
OK, that's a phrase I'm too nerdy to ever be able to pull off, but you've got to hand it to her. What dedication to her craft. She was Crawford to the end - even when the end was a movie so bad there's a scene where [spoiler, spoiler, spoi-diddly-oiler] the scientists insert some device into the caveman which immediately teaches him to talk. In English.
I couldn't help it. I spelled it out in sign language.
Seriously, were the writers making a reference to The Miracle Worker, or had they just not noticed they'd used the very same epiphany word?
Before we started the film, Stephen came in with two glasses of champagne. And made a toast to Ms. Crawford for doing her work and giving it her all no matter the circumstances.
I love being married to a man who would think to do that.