Had the movie been American, I suspect it would have qualified as a 'touching chick flick' or something similar ... maybe a shove-your-nose-in-the-ain't-it-awful-shit expose. But this was a quiet movie and touching despite an environment of financial comfort. The silences were put to credible use -- not starchy and often contrived American versions of silence. Imagine what it must be like to feel a long-term love slipping and drifting away like cigarette smoke in a pool hall. Perhaps the fact that the movie was directed by a woman helped. I don't know.
I watched and didn't stop watching ... which, in another time, I might well have done. The movie was touching and for some reason -- age, I suppose -- I was willing to be touched. It was to weep for in a realm beyond the wetness of tears.
No one survives.
And it's OK.
A friend died of Alzheimers some time back. One of the most notable memories was when he found himself trapped in his living room because he couldn't make sense of a door. I remember the terror in his eyes when we walked in, unaware of his distress.
ReplyDeleteWe blithely toss samsara off as the condition of the world and the ignorance and greed of people. But in a discussion on another subject, my teacher told me it was all mind, and my friend was lost in his. And after a life of making a living and raising a family, of knowing what needs done and how to do it, this was a terror without a map.