Phoebe: Being of creativity,
Raige: Hide yourself now from me.
Piper: Your light that shines upon our face
Phoebe: From our vision now erase.
Eutwerpe smiles, glows, and disappears.
This next bit, lasting all of seventy seconds, made the entire evening for me, and the credit is Hoagy Carmichael's alone. As a trumpet plays the first bars of "Star Dust," a song I simply adore, we get lingering nighttime views of San Francisco: Market Street, the Ghirardelli sign, the skyline from the bay. As the melody haunts my reverie, the shot cross-fades to candles in the Manor, and we are once again with Raige, contentedly brushing oils onto a canvas. Another fade, and as though their love were new, and each kiss an inspiration, Piper and the Dolt playfully feed each other grapes down in the kitchen. They settle into a terribly sweet kiss, and I assure you, I'm calling it terribly sweet only because of the "Star Dust" on the soundtrack. See what this song does to me? As the nightingale tells his fairy tale of paradise where roses grew, Phoebe descends the staircase at P3 in a stunning white period evening dress, fierce Adrian shoulder pads and all. I'm not even going to crack on her hair, despite the fact the white satin magnolia blossoms really do create an unsettling Bride of Frankenstein effect. Cole, seated at the bar in a vintage Army Air Corps uniform -- and yes, he wears it well, like you needed to ask -- turns to gaze at her. Another fade takes in the mirrored ball spinning above the dance floor in front of a banner telling me to buy war bonds before the camera pans down to Phoebe and Cole slowly dancing alone. They're gorgeous, and I'm getting a little verklempt. Damn you, Hoagy Carmichael. Damn you to hell. Your stardust melody is even distracting me from Phoebe's man hands. Phoebe rests her head on Cole's shoulder as the memory of love's refrain fades us out to the closing credits.
Have a wonderful holiday, and the best of new years to you all. Christ, did I just type that? That's it: Hoagy is going down.