I merely state that as a possibility. On the other hand I've long felt that the older works have a much greater probability of possessing a quality that stands the test of time than a lot of the more modern productions.
Nooo! I've gone to an actual movie theater twice this year, which is two times more than I went in 2014. And next up in my queue is Martha Ivers, of which I never tire.
It's the experience in general that you're writing about that's so interesting. On a "Perry Mason" board I belong to, we recently had an ongoing discussion of "remembered" episodes that never happened...or might never have happened. Although all of us on that board are as familiar with the 271 episodes as you fellows here are with 3JRHFTW (and either era- or military-related films), it seems pretty universal that there's "one that got away." Two of us, one who could probably recite episodes in his sleep, remembered very clearly an intricate plot that was never written. So did I.
There's a difference between remembered movies, t.v. shows, and songs that you're willing to concede, albeit very reluctantly, never existed, and ones you'd be willing to fight a duel, if it came to that, about its being real. In 1990, I had just moved into my one-and-only own home. It was nothing special to anyone else, an old frame-home here in the Northeast, in what was then a modest neighborhood. I was exhilarated but nervous. It being a rainy April day, I drove out after dark around 7 p.m. to familiarize myself with the new neighborhood and just go to the grocery store.
On the way, I turned on the radio and was immediately enchanted by the strangest song I have ever heard. I have spent years trying to identify it to no avail. While I don't listen to Oldies Stations as a matter of habit, by 1990, popular music had nearly reached a pinnacle of self-indulgence, brazenness, and just everything that I find repellant. So I do recall vividly setting the station to an Oldies station and possibly AM band.
The song itself was performed by a male trio, and I recall the announcer saying its name. It started off like one of those somber 50's and early 60's love anthems in the tradition of "Never, My Love," but my attention was drawn to it on the foggy and pretty deserted roads by the solemnity not only of the music, but of the words. All I can recall is that it had to do with was the singers' gratitude for a beloved woman's marrying him. The lyrics were excessively grave--for three-part harmony (as far as I recall) by what seemed a white Doo-Wop ensemble. The melody was in a minor key; and I remember sitting in the nearly empty parking lot of the shopping center waiting for it to conclude. I then went to buy toothpaste and what-not, and forgot all about the odd haunting song.
In the ensuing years (I sold the house in 2002), I tried to recall the title. I called the radio station. I did internet searches using all kinds of search words. Nothing. Those twelve years in that home were among the happiest of my life (I taught myself, rip-offed in a stunning way by a "contractor," how to lay copper plumbing, how to spackle and put up a wall, how to drill a steel door for deadbolts). I was so grateful to God for a home of my own and thought it would last forever, and the day I locked the door for the final time around Thanksgiving in 2002, among other things, I thought of that strange love-song I heard once and only once back in 1990.
I know it will always be the "one that got away," but sometimes I'm willing to say I imagined it, and that it was a personal song from a certain Someone just for me.
Life is strange.
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cfwente
9 years ago
"Life is strange."
It sure is. And, as Joe Gillis says in Sunset Blvd. -- strangely "merciful".
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hilaryjrp
9 years ago
And, as Joe Gillis says in Sunset Blvd. -- strangely "merciful"
Another film I've seen for the first time at a belated age (just this past year). Better late than never; but in regard to life being strangely merciful, in an odd way different than what I think Gillis means about Norma Desmond, Gillis' words are true. Is Norma insane because she demanded extraordinary mercy, above and beyond what other people want or expect?
When Homer refuses help lighting his cigarettes on the trip back to Boone City, we look at each other the way Al and Fred look at each other, and think, Oh, poor boy, you don't know what challenges await you. He's kind of a stand-in for the naif in those two as well as in the audience. It's only when he forces himself to be grateful for Wilma's mercy--and he really has to force himself to be grateful; it doesn't come easily--that he triumphs.
To be aware of plain everyday mercies or very mixed blessings that don't immediately announce themselves as such is a capacity many people seem to lack, whether because the capacity is intellectual or spiritual, or both, I don't know. It constitutes what's called a "fighting spirit."
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cfwente
9 years ago
Hilary,
Nicely written.
I heard a story about two men who had what you call a "fighting spirit" -- Dostoevsky and Tolstoy. Don't know if it's true, but Dostoevsky wanted to write like Tolstoy and was able to talk to him alone for a time at Tolstoy's house one winter. The two men were walking outside in the snow when Dostoevsky noticed the much older Tolstoy was getting very cold and suggested they continue inside. Dostoevsky walked faster, being younger, toward the house when behind him he heard a thud. Tolstoy had fallen. Dostoevsky stopped and wondered if he should go back and help the proud but failing old man back to his feet. He decided to leave him on his own and pretended not to notice what had happened. A short time later Tolstoy managed to get himself back up and laboriously continued walking to the house. Dostoevsky felt that the older and very proud Tolstoy would have preferred the pain of recovering from the fall on his own rather than having been discovered as a victim of his age in the presence of a younger man seeking his help.
As you suggest, some acts of mercy "don't immediately announce themselves as such ...".
Thanks & best
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hilaryjrp
9 years ago
I just watched a recent film about an elderly woman (Joan Plowright) at a London assisted living home and the young man she lies to her nursing home friends is her grandson ("Mrs. Palfrey at the Claremont"). It reminded me so much of a relationship of eleven magnificent years I had with a lady at a nursing home, a friendship so close I consider this woman my mother in spirit, to the extent that when feasible for identity purposes, I use her name as my mother's maiden name. She and I shared a common personality trait, excessive naivete. In "Mom's" case, excessive naivete supported her high spirits, and when the naivete finally, finally, began to fade, I knew what else was going to fade.
One day, she spoke to me with a bitterness I had always known existed within her, a frankness and realism that would not at all have been shocking from someone else. To the extent that such an angel could ever truly vent spleen, she vented it toward me. I'll remember to the day I die where I was sitting, and the light through the blinds, and the date. Dostoevsky did the right thing when he let Tolstoy pick himself up.
If there is one venue on the planet where people should be able to discuss the depression, fear, and hopelessness that must be fought tooth and nail every day as one ages, it would seem to be our planetary community called the internet. Surprise! Find a single site where honesty about aging is the main focus? Please let me know its address.
The only "place" where debility in its various forms can be entertained is in movies. If anyone ever criticizes you for spending too much time watching films, remind them that even in places of worship, honesty about aging and other fearful topics simply is never found. And this is why young people come here to "hate on" (God, give me the patience to endure that new verbal phrase) The Best Years of Our Lives. Young people who seek entertainment only to indulge lusts, whatever their nature, can't stand entertainment that deals with our mutual fragility. And oh do such kids ever feel threatened by this film for that specific reason.
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