Dear you,
Everything feels like a movie now. I know I have a dramatic nature and pretend my
life is a Baz Luhrmann production, but really, everything feels like a
movie now. Some titles and plots align
with what passes for my reality:
The Unbearable Lightness of Being
The Daniel-Day Lewis character, a surgeon and player,
returns to his home in Prague in spite of the Soviet occupation. He does this for love, love of homeland and a
woman. The once lively city is drab and
paralyzed. He stays anyway. Ah, love.
Me. I return to Floribama,
watching the destruction of land, water, and wildlife. I stay anyway. Ah, love?
The Year of Living Dangerously
No real plot connection here, but the title is all 2020 (and
even 2021). The simplest, dullest things
are life threatening. I go shopping surrounded by hordes of Covid deniers! How
daring! I go to the dentist as soon as
the mini-shutdown in Florida is lifted!
Daring! I walk around outside
without a mask, risking contact with vacationing drunks who just have to hug
me! Daring! I go to random open houses and breathe
not-so-fresh air in confined, overpriced spaces! Daring!
I eat questionable takeout from the one Asian restaurant that hasn’t
closed due to fear, fear of the local idiots who blame the “China Virus” on
them. Daring! Everything is dangerous
now. (A commercial just aired raising
alarm about the dangers of cleaning the gutters on your roof. Pulling leaves out of roof drains while
standing on a ladder is lethal! I am not
at all interested in doing that. But I
have been known to pop bread in the toaster without washing my hands first.
Daring!)
Gone with the Wind
Dear white nationalists, cry all you want about the end of
an era and cancel culture, but those stupid Confederate monuments are coming
down. Good riddance. Goodbye.
We are all end-of-days characters these days, heroes or
villains, depending on your point of view.
Charlie Sheen is the protagonist on a mission (Willard). Marlon Brando is the antagonist on an ego
trip (Kurtz). This morality tale took
more than a year to film. It was
hell. It was like being in hell while
making a movie about hell. Meta-hell. During
the odyssey, Charlie Sheen suffered a nervous breakdown and a heart
attack. Marlon Brando (Kurtz) showed up
for the gig looking more like Jabba the Hutt than a charismatic anti-hero. Cinematic failure seemed unavoidable, but in
the end . . . a masterpiece! The hero
lives and Mr. Kurtz? He dead. I intend to survive the apocalypse like
Willard/Sheen. And I hope whatever Kurtz
symbolizes today heads into the abyss taking “the horror” with him. Fuck the apocalypse.
The Devil Wears Prada
On my most misanthropic days, I am Miranda Priestly. Everyone disappoints me. Everyone is fat and stupid. Everyone is
wearing their own versions of hideous skirts.
And everyone moves at a glacial pace.
You know how that thrills me. That’s all.
Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown
That would be most women in America now, the “handmaids”
aside. Apparently, our bodies belong to
the be-fruitful-and-multiply overlords.
Jesus Camp
Better known as busy season at my condo complex. The
converted and the converters get all drunk and destructive, but it’s okay
because they do so while wearing charming Bible verse t-shirts. Testify!
It’s all show biz, folks . . .
That’s a wrap.
Joyce
No comments:
Post a Comment