When I was watching “Hello, My Name is Doris” I was thinking about that. Doris is very vintage (not really “new vintage” as the hipster crowd labels her), and it’s difficult to decide if to see her as a cool old broad or a weird old broad. Her romantic fixation on the much younger creative director at her work is not quite the Harold and Maude meeting of kindred spirits. It does awaken her unrealized youthful self. When she dances at the Baby Goya and the Nuclear Winters concert, you can’t help but be caught up in her freedom and uncensored joy. The annoying quality of Sally Field’s acting serves the character well here: there is a sympathetic component to her not so subtle pursuit of John.
Doris articulates that she is lonely, but she has a loyal and brutally honest friend (Roz) so not quite the isolated hoarder old lady. The script is clumsy – can’t quite decide which story thread to follow, but “Hello, My Name is Doris” is an almost good little movie.
Age is a drag. A deteriorating body that can’t keep up with the still yearning, young soul.
However age does have its advantages. I was shopping for a leather jacket. Went into an expensive store where a group of young salespeople tried to convince me that jacket I couldn’t zip up (too tight) and with “Happy” written on the back was a perfect fit. Little did they know that I would never buy a jacket that has “Happy” written on the back. Occasional wear only. “Unhappy” would get more wear, but then I don’t believe in wearing something that can’t be zipped up and then lying about being happy about it.