My boyfriend and I spent Thanksgiving this year with his father in Washington, D.C. and the man is a sponge for culture if I've ever seen one. Over an incredible Italian spread of sauce and broccoli dab, we mentioned that neither of us had a background of classic cinema. Three weeks later, we received a box the approximate size and weight of an Xbox One. "My dad would never buy us an Xbox." Justin reminded me. This was true. Last Christmas, he got me The Art Museum: Phaidon Press, a 17 lb, 2500 page art book that we can literally only keep on the dining room table. It dwarfs our coffee table.
No, this package didn't contain an Xbox One. With mucho gusto, we tore open the packaging to find a set containing 50 films from the Criterion Collection and an accompanying glossy book with feature commentary. This is the epitome of a Mr. G gift. The DVDs were housed in a sturdy book nestled next to the feature book in a luxurious box set. It felt super pretentious so we had to look up how much this thing cost. The answer: between $750 and $850. Yup, this gift is the epitome of a Mr. G gift and it is bad ass.
I am not a cinephile. Justin is a cinephile. Sure, I've seen a lot of films with him and I want to be that person who's seen every film that's won any festival award ever, but I'm not quite there yet. In the meantime, Mr. G's gift gives both of us a pretty incredible starting point as we explore art house cinema.
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