Showing posts with label Breakfast at Tiffany's. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Breakfast at Tiffany's. Show all posts

Monday, May 4, 2009

May 5

I was born 48 years ago today, and for fun thought I'd do a little research. In 1961, a new house cost all of $12, 500, the average annual income was $5315.00, and gas was 27 cents a gallon. JFK was inaugurated as our President, the border was closed between East and West Berlin, and Alan B. Shepard became the first American in space (on May 5, 1961). I know this because my parents came home from the hospital with me as well as a commemorative space shuttle coin bank. Cinqo de Mayo is also celebrated on this day.

How interesting that some 20 years later, as a young Army wife, I got to go through Checkpoint Charlie in West Berlin and into East Berlin. It is something I will never forget. I watched some years later on my television in Connecticut as "the wall' was torn down. Full circles are gratifying.

The movie "Breakfast at Tiffany's" came out in 1961 as well. I must have first seen it when I was a teenager, and I fell in love with it. I still watch it periodically; I'm sure I've seen it at least 20 times. I had it on VCR, now DVD. When something replaces our DVD players, I'll have it on whatever that is, too.

I read the book after I saw the movie, when I went through a Truman Capote phase in my reading. (This was also at a time when I took my literature a lot more seriously; I also tackled War and Peace.) The book is darker and not as innocent as the movie. Capote clearly insinuates Holly Golightly is a prostitute in the written version. It's funny how as a young woman I totally missed that in the movie, but this was, after all, in theaters in 1961. They were only allowed to be so risque at the time. 

I loved Holly's apartment with its half-a-claw-foot-bathtub for a sofa, her elaborate updos and her nameless cat. The movie has a charm the book did not, thanks I'm sure in great part to Audrey Hepburn's charisma and classic beauty, and a surprisingly handsome young George Peppard. So even at 48, I will take the happier, campy version and keep my naivete intact. Full circle indeed.