The 1966 version of "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf" is my new favorite film. It is freaking hilarious, with black, black undertones. Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton — real-life husband and wife at the time — are the most splendid of over-educated, mutually verbally abrasive drunkards. They are the unconventional definition of "well-matched," and if either character was a better person, their relationship would be toxic to both. As it is, they maintain a darkly beautiful symbiosis. The cynicism is brutal and the wit is scathing brilliant. They push and challenge each other, but the score stays roughly even (disclaimer: the movie's not over yet, and it's only my first viewing. This is literature, and I fully expect some wrenching twists).
I need to write a proper review of this film in the light of day. Right now I'm too busy laughing and raising my glass of crappy chardonnay in gleeful solidarity with the winning one-liners. GREAT FUCKING FILM. God the dialogue, I am just in awe of the writing. IN AWE, I TELL YOU.
I love the sixth sense that compels me to tune into Turner Classic Movies in time to catch such treasures as this, or Rose Marie, or Camille, or...
(Image from Google)