I wish I knew the story of Thirteen Kisses. But it’s in another language. It is a foreign story. I can see what’s in the story, the characters and setting. There is a woman with ravishing red lipstick and a large-brimmed hat with a flower poking out the back of it. She is very beautiful and from another time. Violins twirl from the back of her dress behind her as she walks by, trumpets and trombones lining the sidewalk for her promenade. And a man—dark, short hair lines his brow with a part to the side. He wears a suit, the sauntering drums and bass see him in a confident strut heading the opposite way, moving toward her. He is confident. He has a motorcycle. They hop on and go for a ride. And I can see all of this because the language is so clearly and fluently expressed — and we all know this language. It is the language of falling in love on gondola rides. It is beautiful and serene, but also fiery, fraught with peril. Tredici Bacci makes a movie out of it, with plenty of high drama, steamy love scenes and tense stand-offs. An opera, a stage of it, blood red velvet curtains towering over a damsel on her death bed, singing her last goodbye. No… No, I don’t know the exact story of Thirteen Kisses, remember? But I know this much: The story of Thirteen Kisses does have a happy ending. You’ll be dancing.
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