By Andrea Scarpino
Los Angeles
I remember watching Julia Child with my mother when I was little. I was fascinated by her hands, how large they seemed on the television screen, how quickly and competently they did things in the kitchen I had never seen my mother do. I remember my mother sitting with a notepad, furiously scribbling ingredients and instructions as Julia demonstrated. How many tablespoons did she say? my mother would ask. How long is it supposed to bake?
So it should come as no surprise that I fell in love with Meryl Streep’s version of Julia Child in the film Julie & Julia. She looked like Julia Child, moved with her same awkward grace, somehow seemed, through the magic of filmmaking I guess, to have her same huge hands. Julie, on the other hand, I pretty much despised. Not Amy Adams the actor, or the actual Julie Powell, of whom I know absolutely nothing other than her project blogging as she cooked all of the recipes in Julia Child’s famous book, Mastering the Art of French Cooking. But the character on the screen, who struck me as whiny, annoying, a little too unsure of herself.
The friends I saw the film with agreed: Julia is amazing, Julie makes you want to stab yourself. I’ve since read similar reviews online, that the film should have been a documentary of Julia Child’s life, that Julie just rode Julia’s coattails to fame. So I’ve started to wonder what all the attacks on Julie’s character are really about, if I haven’t fallen into a trap of hating in another person what I hate about myself. It’s true that Julia Child lived an amazing and exciting life, one that would be the envy of most people. But it may also be true that Julie’s life is closer to our own everyday lives, complete with mundane annoyances, silly arguments with our partners, struggles to figure out who we really want to be in the world.
And we shouldn’t forget that Julia’s life was also one of privilege. She grew up with money and education, married a man with money and education, learned to cook because she really didn’t have much else to do with her time. This isn’t a criticism, of course, but just a questioning. Is it easier to love and admire Julia Child (at least the Julia in the film) because her life seemed so interesting, romantic, full of adventure and intrigue? A life the likes of which most of us will never experience? Is it easier to despise Julie because she reminds us so closely of ourselves? There, in front of us, splayed out on the big screen: all of our own questionings, annoyances, all of our dreams of something bigger that go unfulfilled, all of our own whininess.
I like to think of myself more as a Julia than a Julie, more of an adventurer, someone enthusiastically embracing her life, learning new things, unafraid of what other people say . . . but that could be just wishful thinking. Maybe I disliked Julie because she reminded me of me.
Whatever the case, I’ll continue to adore Julia Child just like the real Julie Powell did, even after learning the legend wasn’t a fan of her project. Truth is, the people who show us how to live wide open lives probably think our middling ones are pretty boring. And maybe that’s okay, as long as we get to continue striving to follow their leads.
Andrea Scarpino is the west coast Bureau Chief of POTB. You can visit her at:
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