My mother calls something a “Rear Window experience” when it fails to live up to great expectations (“I’m excited to take you to this restaurant. Sure hope it’s not a Rear Window experience”). She’s never gotten over the time she force-fed my younger sister and me the Hitchcock classic—after much, much buildup—and our teenaged selves failed to be dazzled by James Stewart’s and Grace Kelly’s tense, two-hour verbal tennis match. We were whiny and eye-roll-y and eager for something to happen already.
Comments