I watched Julie and Julia last night. It was a feast for the eyes, as I'm sure many a person has already claimed. What I hadn't expected was to find a writer's comfort in the story. I knew that Julie Powell had achieved the coveted novel contract because of her blog, and that the movie was based on her novel, but I'd sort of glossed over this fact in my salivating, er, anticipation of the movie.
I also hadn't realized that the Julia Child part of the movie was going to follow her progress to becoming a published writer, either. It was incredibly gratifying to watch these two women struggle through the process, Julia taking years, Julie taking one year. It was pleasing to watch Julie, especially, who I more closely relate to with meltdowns and the occasional narcisistic bout.
The rest of the movie was just plain enjoyable to watch. The colors were vibrant, the relationships real, the food delicious (looking). The movie stayed with me enough that I dreamed of it. It was exactly what I needed to watch—something beautiful and fun and uplifting.