The new bio-pic about Pierre August Renoir is just as beautifully pink and golden and full of sunlight as his paintings. It's one long immersion in gorgeous semi-wild countryside in the South of France during World War I where the aged painter, crippled with arthritis nevertheless paints compulsively while he is cared for by a household of women, many of whom have been his models and stayed on as caretakers and cooks and maids. A new model appears, a spirited girl with just the right strawberry blond hair and wonderful body covered in creamy skin the old man loves to look at as he paints.
He has three sons, one young and semi-feral it seems, the oldest has lost use of an arm in the war and the middle son, comes home to recuperate from a thigh wound -- obviously a set up for a romance between new model and son. Not a lot happens, and the beauty becomes cloying to me -- as are most of the Renoir painting's I've seen. The movie will be memorable for it relentless visual beauty.
The mid-70s are a surprise! Part of me remains in the 50s -- age, I mean, not decade of 20th century. It's a joy ride, new experiences land in my lap and I've become a better quilter, poet, writer than I expected. It's a rich life for a person never rich financially. Hey, this is what the mid-70s are like!