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Hey there, Georgy girl

I would not marry James Mason, I don't care how much money he has. And I would have belted Charlotte Rampling right in the chops if she'd been MY roommate (probably sustaining severe injuries from her spectacular knife-edged cheekbones in the process). Bits of this movie (which let me take a moment to emphasize is the 1966 flick with Lynne Redgrave and miniskirts, not the 2001 movie about the Maori transsexual) were screamingly funny -- for example: "I'll tell you what this pregnancy's taught me, it's taught me to look like the back end of a bus!" But Georgy's so inconsistent! Spineless one moment, spitting like a cat the next. Desperately sorry for her that she caves at the end, I do not foresee Happy Ever After. Clearly she wants to be a mother, but Jos is a complete lackwit (Georgy, why?) and Mason's just an old goat (Georgy, WHY WHY WHY?!?). She'd have been much better off on her own. Something like 40% of births last year were to single mothers, quite a few of them by choice, not by accident; I know this was forty years ago but it's still hard to believe that a city girl of the madcap 1960s would think she was nothing without a man.

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