To Catch a Thief

I watched To Catch a Thief on Sunday afternoon. It started out normal enough-- curled up with my Auntie Fay quilt, Paris tea, and pumpkin cookies made by my Sunday movie buddy Alison. Read on, my friends.

The film is about a jewel thief. Its all about jewelry and the stealing of it. Diamonds, sapphires, pearls, rubies... its about jewels, the people who wear them, and the people who steal them. (Stay with me here, I do have a point.) Its Cary Grant dressed all in black, crawling across Spanish tiles and over perfect European chimneys... Grace Kelly, stating that she doesn't wear jewelry because she doesn't like anything 'hard and cold against my skin'... Jessie, dripping with diamonds, proving that she isn't afraid of losing them.

So you can imagine my surprise when the doorbell rang (a sure oddity in Brooklyn) and opened the door to one of New York's finest--a bonafide NYPD cop-- asking if my name was Sarah and if I called to report missing jewels. I will repeat that... a cop came to my door in the middle of Hitchcock's jewelry thieving film, asking if my name was Sarah and if I called to report stolen jewelry.

Umm... no... I answered in complete shock, slight panic, and building excitement. I suddenly was Grace Kelly and this strapping cop my Cary Grant! All that was missing was my perfectly cut white evening gown (I was wearing a Nebraska sweatshirt and pajama pants), a black cat to aid in the sleuthing (the stray cats living on my stoop are all calico), and fireworks out the window (this is Bed-Stuy, after all. The 'fireworks' are usually gunshots. Yeek.) It was a perfect movie moment.

Well... almost. The thieving turned out to be from my sweet British landlady, Sara-Jane, whose precious rings were stolen at the manicurist. And the cop turned out to be... a cop. Not Cary Grant. Ah. Reason. Not a good thing, but definitely an explanation.

To Catch a Thief is stunning and completely enjoyable. Its a gorgeous Hitchcock escape film that Ocean's Twelve (the best Ocean movie--don't even try to argue with me, haters) absolutely robbed from in all its Mediterranean sleuthing glory. The fashion is impeccable-- Grace Kelly defines glamor. (The white and black beach number made Alison and I gasp in unison.) The car chase on the windy roads of Monaco is even more terrifying when you know that Princess Grace later crashed to her death on those very twists and turns. If you didn't know this information, watch that scene again... goosebumps.

So. Even if I didn't actually enter To Catch a Thief during my NYPD fiasco, I do feel a little closer to it now. And to make up for the disappointment of not being Grace Kelly this time, I am planning to steal all of her good lines and claim them as my own in the future.

Miss Stevens?
Yes, Mr. Burns?
You know what I think?
About what?
You.
I don't really care.