The first time I ever watched Charade, it was during a typhoon day in the Philippines. We were in the basement of the Baucks’ house, the place where we watched so many formative movies—Legally Blonde, all of the Star Wars movies, most likely You’ve Got Mail, anything else?—while we had the day off from school. Charade was scary enough for me as an 11-year old that all of the dead bodies they portrayed gave me a true fright, and I remember the actual, almost visceral suspense that felt like I was really in the subway station under the Colonnade among the shadows when the twist was revealed. What a fun environment, cozied up in what I’m sure was at least 78 degrees, having fun snacks and treats like hot cocoa, watching movies together with our moms (the teachers), feeling like grownups in only the best ways. When I think about houses that I’m heartbroken to leave behind, that one doesn’t come to mind. Maybe because I said a good enough goodbye to a decade of memories there, all packed in together, and then one more last hurrah when we want back to visit when Peter was graduating, and I got to sit on the master bedroom toilet and do my makeup and pretend like I was little again, even though I’d already started watching Jersey Shore and done several other unmentionable things.

     Watching Charade again for the first time in years came a little bit on the spur of the moment. I think it was on a Sunday, because I had already watched all of my cooking programs on Saturday, then Pete came over, and then church was canceled Sunday morning because of the snow. I re-started it and made Pete watch it from the beginning, which he partially did. This was the first movie that I made him watch that he didn’t fall 100% in love with, but I think probably it’s because he was on his phone.

     I was having second doubts about my faith in Audrey after I watched Love in the Afternoon, but this one restored it completely. It was just as good, with more subtlety and humor than I had noticed when I was 10, or even 25, and still suspenseful, even if only watching someone else watch it. I liked this movie so much for five main reasons.

1. This is another movie wherein Audrey Hepburn has a much older costar. It’s basically a norm from the time when she was 23 to 34. God bless Albert Finney—I can’t wait to watch Two for the Road. But anyways, this is the only movie where the ridiculousness of the age difference is addressed. There are corny jokes about it—plus, the difference isn’t even that outlandish. She’s already a widow, for goodness sakes, and is in her mid-30s, and he’s a divorcé in his mid-40s. Plus, he’s Cary Grant. So it only makes sense. But the movie isn’t above mocking the fact that she basically falls in love with him immediately, regardless of his current alias.
2. Even though she is a hapless widow at the mercy of a troupe of 5 war veterans, including her late husband, and even though she does believe everything that a fair number of strange men present her with at the drop of a hat, and even though she comes out with some wildly ditzy, unrelated lines of dialogue, she has some clue as to what’s going on. She’s decided to divorce her husband because of the secret that he’s keeping from her even before he’s murdered (no spoiler—it happens in the first five minutes), and she ultimately figures out the mystery on her own. So that’s a pro.
3. While watching this movie I had the epiphany of where my obsession with peacoats circa 2007 originated. I tried on every single one that Old Navy carried—the more ¾ length sleeves, big plastic buttons, and stiff collars, the better. I never actually bought one, but my life isn’t over yet, you know? Although I don’t shop at Old Navy anymore.

   

4. I also watched a snippet of Audrey Hepburn’s speech at Cary Grant’s lifetime achievement award event, and it was so cute—and he shed a tear—that it made me appreciate their chemistry that much more. She just appeared to adore him back in 1963 all the way up until 1991. 
5. Walter Matthau and Audrey Hepburn’s chemistry is almost as electric as hers and Grant’s. She rips the filters off of cigarettes while chain smoking them and says, “I hate those things.” And their back and forth bit about agents vs. spies is actually hilarious, I would go so far as to say.

6. 

     That night for dinner, I cooked fegato alla veneziana (which sounds just so much more glamorous than liver with onions…which is what it is), made Connie Wald’s Vinaigrette, stuffed tomatoes, and Domi’s chocolate cake while we watched Kill Bill Vol. 2. The liver stunk up my house for the rest of the night and did not taste good. I may or may not have overcooked it by a minute or two, which is an unforgivable offense, apparently. Everything about the night was a letdown compared with watching Charade and drinking a lot of coffee and probably having some leftover cookie butter cake for dessert. Oh, and I made us London Fogs, with loose-leaf bergamot tea, vanilla extract, and whole milk heated in a saucepan and frothed, sweetened with a little bit of stolen honey.

     Getting snowed in is always a good excuse to watch Charade. Let the eerie feelings of being trapped inside a building kindle the fires of the fears that the bad guys are going to barge in, looking for the money and dropping matches on your lap in a terrifying threat on your life. Cozy up with a blanket, put on a pot of tea with some mulling spices in it, froth some milk, tell someone you love them, and only venture outside when the dog has to pee, or to smell the neighbor’s chimney smoke. I hope I get the chance to have many more severe weather days like this one in my life.