Film Diary

Just the other night, I finally made it out to the movies. It was my little treat to myself the night before leaving, before finishing packing, and cleaning. Cristina told me that I had to see it, and I generally trust her film judgment, mostly because she is brilliant, and an expert, but also because she knows my tastes, and me, and we tend to like the same sorts of films. Besides, I had already heard about it on NPR and wanted to see it, so I needed very little prompting.

Once (Ireland, 2006) written and directed by John Carney, with original music by Glen Hansard, and Markéta Irglová (good thing she isn't Italian with that name, or maybe the accent makes it a long "e", for her sake, I hope so). It was beautiful. Not visually stunning, though I do tend to like the bumpy jumpy video feel, but aurally stunning. It was something like one big long music video, with little more of a story than what you get in a music video, and yet... I felt a deep tug, pulling me back on a journey through my life: Dublin, age 13, wandering the streets, running with my earphones plugged in, 18 in Pennsylvania recording for the first time in a studio with Paul and his band. I felt that nervous twitch settle in over me vicariously. The warbling tenor melody and fragile harmony stirring deeper things, recording our songs, saying goodbye, losing the things we love because we forget how to appreciate them.


Today Kik and I had a plan. We went to class, ate with out classmates and then took the bus to CU where we caught the metro to Coyoacán. The city isn't so beastly hot as it is unbearably humid, that is, until the rain rips open the sky, dumps the humidity back upon the earth, and leaves the asphalt steaming and the scent of ozone in the air. We had drinks at the café in the Cineteca, and read for class while waiting. I can most definitely see myself there daily, doing work until it is time to see my film.

We watched En Soap (Denmark, 2006) written and directed by Pernille Fischer Christensen.
What a beautiful movie. And so very Danish, it rips out your viscera in the way that Festen (Thomas Vinterberg, 1998) did, and plays with audience expectation and the constructedness of filmic narrative in the way that Reconstruction (Christopher Boe, 2003) did. Though the director and screenwriting collaborator were both women, it didn't feel like there was a gendered lens, rather, I suppose, a transgendered one. The muted colors, and black and white technique gave it a feel of stark solitude, and the characters were unexceptional people, with exceptional psychological complexities. The entire action of the film takes place in one apartment building between two neighbors apartments, and examines the nature of desire, and self-imposed unhappiness. All very good, except suddenly, and out of nowhere there is a scene whose violence hit me like a fist in the face, the ex-boyfriend comes, copulates urgently, and then savagely attacks the female character, then cries about how he only wants her to come home.

I couldn't control myself and though silent, the tears were streaming down my face, but Kik understood and reached for my hand in the darkness, hugged me while I tried to keep my breathing under control, handed me a handkerchief to wipe away my tears. When the ex-boyfriend came back on the screen, this time with a bucket of flowers and apologies, she rested her head on my shoulder and squeezed my hand until he was off screen, and I could breath again. I left feeling drugged, and crippled. I realize that not all the damage is fixed. There are still things that hurt me even if I think that they don't. Even when I think that rational thought should prevail. There is still the physical memory. And the loss. So I think that art has served its purpose, and she tells me that I shouldn't try to make it go away, that it is part of the cure. I think she is right. And as we walked back up and over the four lanes, I focused on my diaphragm, controlled breathing, a panic attack neatly avoided, and a friend nearby.