The strangeness that is my life continues. And strangely enough, this post isn’t actually a continuation of my last post about the weird things that have been happening to me lately. This strangeness is on a completely different tangent…
Last night I went to watch “Vicky Cristina Barcelona” at Cinema Nouveau in Rosebank. It got fairly awful reviews in the newspaper and I had no intention of watching it (unless it was on DVD in 4 months or so) until my friend Kirstan saw it and was adamant that I had to see this film. So, last night, Jake and I decided to see what all the fuss was about – mostly because I really wasn’t in the mood for the doom and gloom of “Revolutionary Road”. Jake too had been instructed by Kirstan to watch the film, and so we (2 singletons) booked our tickets and prepared ourselves for the life-changing insights which were to be directed at us through this cinematic masterpiece. Unfortunately, the life-changing insights never arrived. I suspect that they were delayed in Barcelona. The film was AWFUL! I wasn’t quite sure if it was a comedy or melodrama – the audience certainly found it very amusing, but I have a feeling that they were laughing at Woody Allen, rather than with him, as the bizarre (and completely unnecessary) narration, over-the-top performances and ludicrous script wore on for an hour and a half. Now, I’m not generally terribly critical of the movies I watch – I mean, I’ve sat through “Hellboy” and “X-Men” and some cheesy romantic comedies. But really – this film was… somewhat painful. And, in the midst of this, Jake and I tried to decipher the mysterious message about love and romance that he and I were expected to draw from the film. Jake concluded that he was supposed to go to Barcelona and sleep with two girls. Meaning continued to elude me, however, because I struggled to empathize with the characters, mainly because I’ve never been propositioned by a Spaniard (a German, yes, but never a Spaniard) or cheated on my fiancé or had a threesome in a darkroom.
All was not lost however (and I didn’t waste R22 or two hours of my life), since I realized that the most meaningful statement for me was delivered within the first 5 minutes of the film (and perhaps I should have left at this point). It was the one thing which I really did understand – the description of Cristina’s perspective on love:
Last night I went to watch “Vicky Cristina Barcelona” at Cinema Nouveau in Rosebank. It got fairly awful reviews in the newspaper and I had no intention of watching it (unless it was on DVD in 4 months or so) until my friend Kirstan saw it and was adamant that I had to see this film. So, last night, Jake and I decided to see what all the fuss was about – mostly because I really wasn’t in the mood for the doom and gloom of “Revolutionary Road”. Jake too had been instructed by Kirstan to watch the film, and so we (2 singletons) booked our tickets and prepared ourselves for the life-changing insights which were to be directed at us through this cinematic masterpiece. Unfortunately, the life-changing insights never arrived. I suspect that they were delayed in Barcelona. The film was AWFUL! I wasn’t quite sure if it was a comedy or melodrama – the audience certainly found it very amusing, but I have a feeling that they were laughing at Woody Allen, rather than with him, as the bizarre (and completely unnecessary) narration, over-the-top performances and ludicrous script wore on for an hour and a half. Now, I’m not generally terribly critical of the movies I watch – I mean, I’ve sat through “Hellboy” and “X-Men” and some cheesy romantic comedies. But really – this film was… somewhat painful. And, in the midst of this, Jake and I tried to decipher the mysterious message about love and romance that he and I were expected to draw from the film. Jake concluded that he was supposed to go to Barcelona and sleep with two girls. Meaning continued to elude me, however, because I struggled to empathize with the characters, mainly because I’ve never been propositioned by a Spaniard (a German, yes, but never a Spaniard) or cheated on my fiancé or had a threesome in a darkroom.
All was not lost however (and I didn’t waste R22 or two hours of my life), since I realized that the most meaningful statement for me was delivered within the first 5 minutes of the film (and perhaps I should have left at this point). It was the one thing which I really did understand – the description of Cristina’s perspective on love:
"Cristina, on the other hand,
expected something very different
out of love. She had reluctantly
accepted suffering as an inevitable
component of deep passion, and was
resigned to putting her feelings at
risk. If you asked her what it was
she was gambling her emotions on to
win, she would not have been able
to say.”
Admittedly, reading it now, it does seem a little melodramatic and rather emo – especially the part about accepting “suffering as an inevitable component of deep passion”. However, I really do relate to associating risk and vulnerability with love. In fact, to me, that’s the most romantic part – putting yourself and your feelings on the line for someone else, and risking rejection for the chance of love. And I’ve done it – and admittedly, I’ve had a fair number of dreams come crashing down as a result. But to me, the risk and fear are part of the process, and almost prove my feelings – to both myself and others. I’ve also been on the receiving end of such gambles, and can honestly say that seeing such vulnerability in someone else is like seeing into someone’s soul, and has caused me to see these boys in a completely different light, because I am so astounded by their courage.
Someone asked me today if I thought that love was the most important thing, and as strange as it sounds, I said no. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve got a lot of strange stuff going on in my life at the moment, but reflecting back on why that paragraph from “Vicky Cristina Barcelona” resonated with me, I think it’s because – at least to me – there is something bigger or something else. And just like Cristina, I don’t quite know what it is, and I’m not sure that it even exists – or whether it exists for anyone else. Maybe I’ve become cynical or disillusioned with love and romance, but I suspect, instead, that I’ve chosen to search for something else that reflects what I believe in, although I'm not quite sure what it is.
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