Yul Brynner died October 10th 1985 but lives on in our household.
Yul first entered our universe, Sheila’s actually, when Sheila, in her teenage years, took in a movie as part of a birthday celebration. The movie in question was Anastasia, also starring Ingrid Bergman, and there was no question that, in Sheila’s eyes, it (Yul, not necessarily the movie) deserved a second viewing so she and her great friend Elizabeth stayed on while the rest of the party departed.
I decided if Yul was going to be around I’d try to make use, as best as I could, of his presence.
Before going on, I should point out that I have hair and Yul did, too, but had it shorn for The King and I and it never came back. There is, therefore, no physical comparison between us and, to Sheila’s credit, she doesn’t expect me to compete head to head, so to speak.
No, it’s the subtle things like, ‘Yul can do no wrong,’ subtle things that I’m up against that I’ve tried to use in my defense.
“Give us an example,” you beseech.
OK, when I take that extra scoop of ice cream that in Sheila’s measuring eye is one scoop too many and can’t help but add a zinger that’s waist high, I quickly come back with, “You wouldn’t have said that to Yul.”
But Sheila’s too sharp to let that sit and zings back, “Yul wouldn’t have taken the extra scoop in the first place.”
Hard to rebut that as, anyone who remembers, Yul in his prime looked disgustingly fit. His bio said he’d spent some time in a circus and I suspect he wasn’t feeding the lions unless they can handle a trapeze.
But I’m truly up against a formidable opponent because I thought he, in his prime, in the manly sense, was pretty cool. I liked him in The Magnificent Seven. Fortunately that movie also starred some other cool guys like Steve McQueen so I wasn’t fixated on Yul.
I don’t think I would have done well in debating class if I had to oppose the challenge,
Yul Brynner is a cool guy.
I’m thinking my best strategy would be to question his coolness. “Well, sure he was cool, but how cool?” And then after some illogical meanderings that lead nowhere sit down and hope there weren’t any young maidens of an impressionable age on the defense team.
But all this is just a prologue to one of the eternal mysteries of co-habitation: male defense when you have no defense. How do you handle reasonable questions of your questionable behaviour without resorting to the behaviour of a three year old?
“We needed a sit down lawn mower,” doesn’t stack up too well against, “We have, what, 40 square feet of yellow grass?”
“You said you were going to get a set of new tires, you came back with a new car.”
Again, pointing out to anyone, let alone to your spouse, that a new car comes with a set of new tires doesn’t get you votes towards a Nobel prize.
“I asked you to buy a hose, a garden hose for our terrace. What you decided to invest our life savings in could be classified as standard equipment for a fire station. If we had a tree that caught on fire, often, I might be sympathetic. And it’s orange; what, in the name of the primary colours prompted you to get something that charitably goes with nothing and sticks out like an overgrown snake with carotenemia?”
I decided not to go with, “You can easily find it in the winter to bring it in,” and stood my ground with, “It’s a real hose, those other things fall apart when you drive over them.”
I realized too late that we’d given up a driveway when we gave up our house for the condo and condo rules, I’m pretty sure, don’t allow cars on terraces.
So, out of ideas, I came back to Yul and tried to knock him down so that the next time I’m zinged I can come back with an appropriate and biting, “Well, Yul, yes your Yul, wrote graffiti on the Kremlin wall.” Or whatever it was that he did that he shouldn’t have.
Actually, Yul has a pretty impressive bio: worked hard, did well, was kind to small animals; nothing nasty but then … there it was … an aha! Yul smoked!
I digress, but when you stream today’s entertainment, the warnings that precede the show, the warnings designed to shield you from a sleepless night, include, in addition to sex, nudity, foul language, mayhem, gore, lots of gore that never changes colour, destruction of fine cars etc. is ‘smoking’. Who knew? Who knew how prescient Yul was. He not only died of it, throw in a circus fall or two, but he created a short film clip that told the world not to smoke which lives on today to be included in the you-might-not-want-your-mother-to-watch-this list of Netflix warnings.
So now when Sheila challenges my sanity and good sense and evokes her touchstone of leadership, I fight back with, “Well, Yul smoked!”
(theatrical pause)
“He was acting.”
“Aghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh”