it was overwhelming. there were moments when i was so absorbed in the film that i forgot the person beside me. i would be laughing genuinely and seconds later taste a tear on my lip. i usually have a hard time giving into this unless i go the theater alone.
i don't really want to admit this but i am so self-conscious about the way in which i reveal my emotions. i always feel like i am being scrutinized in my emotional expression and this complicates my ability to allow my physical expression to correspond to my complicated depth of feeling.* i know that most everyone feels this way to a degree, but i am self conscious in a sort of hyper-aware post modern way, if that makes sense to anyone. the result, in my case, is that i either stifle or exaggerate my emotional response.
at the theater, i usually gauge whatever the audience is expressing and refuse to comply with what i believe is a socially conditioned reaction. if they laugh, i purse my lips; if i sense they are touched, i cross my arms and turn to stone. its ridiculous. i really am not that cynical! i'm getting better, really.
maybe it was partly the character's inability to physically express himself that liberated me through the film.
two thoughts:
one: there were some scenes that impacted me like severe blows. my father has als and there is..lets say a possibility...that he will suffer what this man suffered: need a breathing tube, lose the ability to physically express himself without losing memory, imagination, or mental clarity. i could handle seeing the film, but i don't think he could. if i were him, i would want to explore it, but i am not him. am i a bad person for saying this?
two: it encourages me that the last thing someone might want to do in life is to record their impressions in the form of a published book.
i couldn't help but think of brainhell.
*i suspect that this might have something to do with a childhood event. when i was 8 or 9 my sister told me that, after i was asleep, someone would come into my room and watch me while i slept. she may have said that they would film me; i can't remember. because of this, i would pose on my pillow before falling asleep; i would spread my hair carefully around my face and practice a peaceful expression that i imagined was very beautiful. i still have a real problem with posing.
one more thought. there was a scene that evoked a memory of mine, long buried. there is a flashback of the main character shaving his elderly father. it was a very intimate scene. once, a boy let me shave his face. he had recently beaten cancer and still had a shaved head and a scar. he was so vulnerable and trusting, letting me do it. his eyes watched me the entire time. i'm happy to have that memory back.
1 comment:
i'm kind of the same. i openly pride myself at finding things funny which the general audience does not and scorning that which it does.
i call this my artistic sensibility. or, sometimes, artistic integrity. haha.
although i do often find myself laughing at things i don't find funny.
i feel conflicted.
personal turmoil aside, a beautiful movie. delightful blend of honed artistry and populist sentimentalism. i liked it. a lot. i carried it home with me and it put me to bed.
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