Sunday, June 15, 2003
I watched the rather unusual "dolls" tonight and was struck by several things.
It isn't a movie you'd watch for anything resembling a conceivable plot. Or, if it did have a plot, it was just far too intelligent for me. But the cinematography was breathtaking; scenes upon scenes of unsurpassed beauty, mingled with unsurpassed sadness... and whilst I couldn't really understand it, I could appreciate it. It seemed, almost, to me what life should be, and is about. Beauty, and sadness. No real, cohesive, logical storyline; just moments thrown your way, to be savoured. Which astrounded me a little, because I loved the movie. And usually I hate movies without a central, sensible storyline, clearly bridging two distinct points.
I thought at one point that the female lead reminded me a little of Alice, a sad, almost lonely figure standing quietly looking... almost bewildered? But living in her own little slightly-sad world, occasionally smiling joyously at obscure moments and being transformed from prettily melancholic to gloriously alive, for an instant. Soldiering on as her legs were clearly giving out, through sheer ? strength? of character. Or was she just not very with it? But then I saw that, no, the Alice I know, whilst much like the above, is also extremely plugged into the real world and very much independent... extremely with-it. Strong, as well, but in a different way. And then I realised with some horror, that perhaps that sad, lost figure trudging after her "leader" was myself. I suppose the idea began to dawn on me last night, as, whilst laughing over too-much dinner with Alice I realised that we appreciate sadness the same way. And suddenly we had something fundamental in common. Watching the show tonight, I realised that... perhaps that is how the rest of the world perceives me - the way I almost perceive Alice. Quiet, introspective, filled with private thoughts, and following meekly and tirelessly behind. I remember a time when I used to take solitary, random walks by myself; to choose my own direction, and walk it. Somewhere along the line of trying to share these walks with someone I've turned follower instead of leader; and there's nothing wrong with following, except that once in a while one has to lead to remain complete.
So, perhaps life is a montage of beautiful, and often sad scenes that merge to fill a canvas spanning seventysomething years; moments not to be understood and rationalised, but simply savoured. Moments interspersed with exhillarating moments, to be equall savoured.
Or perhaps, as She once put it, I think too much.
It isn't a movie you'd watch for anything resembling a conceivable plot. Or, if it did have a plot, it was just far too intelligent for me. But the cinematography was breathtaking; scenes upon scenes of unsurpassed beauty, mingled with unsurpassed sadness... and whilst I couldn't really understand it, I could appreciate it. It seemed, almost, to me what life should be, and is about. Beauty, and sadness. No real, cohesive, logical storyline; just moments thrown your way, to be savoured. Which astrounded me a little, because I loved the movie. And usually I hate movies without a central, sensible storyline, clearly bridging two distinct points.
I thought at one point that the female lead reminded me a little of Alice, a sad, almost lonely figure standing quietly looking... almost bewildered? But living in her own little slightly-sad world, occasionally smiling joyously at obscure moments and being transformed from prettily melancholic to gloriously alive, for an instant. Soldiering on as her legs were clearly giving out, through sheer ? strength? of character. Or was she just not very with it? But then I saw that, no, the Alice I know, whilst much like the above, is also extremely plugged into the real world and very much independent... extremely with-it. Strong, as well, but in a different way. And then I realised with some horror, that perhaps that sad, lost figure trudging after her "leader" was myself. I suppose the idea began to dawn on me last night, as, whilst laughing over too-much dinner with Alice I realised that we appreciate sadness the same way. And suddenly we had something fundamental in common. Watching the show tonight, I realised that... perhaps that is how the rest of the world perceives me - the way I almost perceive Alice. Quiet, introspective, filled with private thoughts, and following meekly and tirelessly behind. I remember a time when I used to take solitary, random walks by myself; to choose my own direction, and walk it. Somewhere along the line of trying to share these walks with someone I've turned follower instead of leader; and there's nothing wrong with following, except that once in a while one has to lead to remain complete.
So, perhaps life is a montage of beautiful, and often sad scenes that merge to fill a canvas spanning seventysomething years; moments not to be understood and rationalised, but simply savoured. Moments interspersed with exhillarating moments, to be equall savoured.
Or perhaps, as She once put it, I think too much.
