stray thoughts, inspired by various media, sparking connections
Finding Snowman, Magaret Atwood's protagonist in Oryx and Crake, an apt companion. He is alone, totally, the last of his species, among a strange new bio-engineered breed. He talks to himself, quotes to himself, but can't remember from whence the quotes came, reprimands himself for playing and replaying old memory tapes.
I have just begun the book and am loving him all the while Atwood's terrifying future in which he lives is a little too close for comfort. Maybe Snowman's lonelyness too closely mirrors my own...
If anyone told me that I was going to spend three of my precious weekend hours in the Brattle theatre (read old, trendy theatre in Harvard Square that shows classic films in a room akin to a barn, where there is no stadium seating; in other words you spend you time, if you are a height challenged person, craning your neck, looking between this person's head and that, to see the not so big screen) I would have maybe have believed them. But if they told me I was going to spend those three hours watching a guy movie, a buddy film, a Clint Eastwood flic, a cowboy movie, a war movie, a badly dubbed movie, I would have said pshaw. And if they told me that I would be in heaven, happy as a clam, loving every minute of it, hoping it would go on forever, I would have emphatically shaken my head and said, no way, Jose.
However, that was the case, on Saturday, when Alex took us to see The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. (Il buono, il brutto e il cattivo! Don't you just love Italian?) I must have seen the movie when it came out, 37 years ago, but was too young to remember it. I did, however remember the theme song and have sung my rendition of the unintelligible words (I swear they are saying "Don't want no raincoat, don't need no raincoat, don't want no, don't need no" in the background) to those nearest and dearest to me, sending them screaming from the room, hands over their ears. The movie was simply amazing. From the very first ten minutes of close-up shots of rugged, ugly cowboy faces, with no dialog and nothing happening except for in the eyes of the actors, I knew I was in for a treat. After this summers' movie extravaganzas- Matrix Reloaded, (and Animatrix) Xmen 2, the Hulk, Daredevil (on video), Pirates of the Caribbean, and my fav, Finding Nemo, and don't get me wrong I loved them all, it was so wonderful to watch a movie devoid of special effects, of computer graphics of anything more technical than some explosives and to find myself riveted to the screen. The shots were stunningly framed, the direction perfection, Eli Wallach was incredible as Tuco, and even the use of the little stub of a cigar that Eastwood was always smoking, or chewing on or leaving behind in his campfire, was filled with meaning. This feel good, buddy film, who can outsmart who quicker and better was also a riveting indictment of war and I found myself laughing at the delightful play one moment and catapulted into the carnage the next and so appreciative of the fluidity in the film that it could hold such a range of feeling and sensibility and do it all seamlessly, artfully.
Yes I did see Finding Nemo twice and I would see it again in a heartbeat and yes it is Disney, ultimately, and yes they do kill off the mother in the first few minutes (um...like you didn't know that every Disney movie kills off one parent -Bambi-or the other -Lion King-or puts them in jail -Dumbo-or seperates them-Little Mermaid, Pinocchio, Beauty and the Beast- to set the scene) and yes Nemo does get separated from his father and they didn't part on good terms and all that other formulaic Disney crapola, but ooh-la-la what a spectacle it is! Soooo beautiful, I could watch that sea anemone's arms wave endlessly, the water glisten forever, laugh again and again each time those sea turtles say "dude!" or "sweet!"
And yes I had to go see it a second time, because after the first viewing Alex was practically incoherent - he was convinced that whoever wrote the part for Dorie (played by that other Ellen) modelled it after me. "They nailed it!" Alex kept saying. They must have followed you around. She is just like you.
Upon second viewing I could sort of see what he was talking about. Not just the forgetfulness. That I keep creating passwords and then forgetting them so that I can't get on my newly configured Airpot network, isn't what Alex noticed. The part that really got him, was that Dorie kept on singing, Keep on Swimming, even after Marlon, the daddy, told her to shh! and this is Alex's quintessential experience of me. That I keep on singing. In the super market, on Broadway, in the Video store, at work, on the bus, in public, in the shower. He believes me to be wildly inappropriate and out of control. I can see his point of view, although that is so not how I experience myself.
But what I was struck by the second time around, was that Dorie was totally in the moment. Partly because she didn't remember what had gone on seconds before. But partly because she was open to what she was experiencing in that moment. If they were riding the Austrailian current and a slew of baby turtles were playing hide and seek, she was right there. If they were caught in the whale's mouth, she was enjoying the ride, speaking whale to their host. Whatever life brought her she embraced, whole-heartedly. In that regard, I am afraid Alex is wrong. I am nothing like Dorie. And I'm not blue. And I don't have freckles. And I sing better than she does. Even if, in the end, I've got the words to the Good, the Bad and the Ugly all wrong. Maybe they do want that raincoat.
Posted by grabiner at August 5, 2003 11:51 PM