Aimer, souffrir, crier, pleurer… je veux rien. Je sourie quand je suis contente, je pleure quand je suis triste. La jeunesse, c’est facile! Ou Presque. J’essaie encore, mais vous êtes si grand et je ne peux pas résister. Parle, s’il vous plait. Je vous écoute, mais vous ne m’écouté pas. Je ne comprends pas le français.

I’m not as beautiful as I’d like to be, and as hard as I try, as hard as I work, I’ll never have the face I need. Stripping away all that holds me back, I’m left a shell, but I’m also more real than I was before. Can you see me? Am I here?

I remember the last tango; it was beautiful, as beautiful as I wanted to be. I remember the lights overheard, they were white and glowing. I jumped your back, and you jumped on me. We ruined everything, but it made us happy. I want you to smell me, can you smell me?

I had a dream of what marriage could be, and it was you and me and I was safe. There was nothing to worry about, nothing to fear. It didn’t matter that we didn’t love each other before, now we were one and we always would be. You’d hold me in your arms and know everything about me. Words mean nothing, or they shouldn’t. Why are you still talking? I forgot, words were like air back then, how I remember.

We’re spinning now.

We’re still spinning, and it’s starting to hurt. I like the way you hurt me, I don’t need to know why or how, but do it to me please. We ran through Africa and Asia and Indonesia… we found each other or more… I lost you. I was wrong before, I thought I needed to know but it was better that way. It was better when we were just faces, everything seemed more real, more free. Love and knowledge only brought us suffering. We should be like children again. It was easier; we didn’t even need to touch. Wait, are we French again? I can’t remember.

For the film’s 70^th anniversary and the upcoming release of a newly remastered edition and Blu-Ray, Gone with the Wind was released in theatres for a one day only event today. Even if I was not the fan I am, I probably could not pass up this opportunity, and though it is a film that’s large financial success is at least in part due to numerous re-releases over the decades, I am not sure how many more times in my lifetime it will be shown on the big screen.

Gone with the Wind is a perennial favourite among American film fans, and still ranks very high in populist polls. In many ways, it is the Titanic of its day, blending elements that are widely appealing to both men and women, and surrounding it by a historic event recognized and romanticized by many over the years. Though the film certainly idealizes and yearns for a bygone era, it also recognizes that even before the war, it is a world that was fading, and those who held onto it were doomed to impending failure or death.

To adapt was to survive, and this necessitated abandoning or at least pushing away the ideals and dreams of a bygone era. What is so fascinating about Gone with the Wind, is that aside from Rhett Butler, it portrays women as far more capable of transformation then men. Even in their fashion, the female characters seem to be in a constant state of flux, adjusting to new awarenessness and ideals, while their male counterparts are left in the dust. No one adapted better than Scarlett O’Hara, whose name reflects both her passion and sense of violence…

Escaping from the hospital, where she was assisting as a nurse (the final straw is the prep work on a man who is having a limb removed sans anaesthesia or painkillers), Scarlett runs through the bustling streets of Atlanta. She has decided to evacuate, and is rushing home to pack. The scene is framed in an interesting way though, while everyone is moving in one direction, Scarlett is pushing through them. She is a singular force moving against the crowds of faceless people, and though it is simply a matter of geography, it is a moment that stands out as defining of her nature. It is also important to note, it is her countermovement that helps call her attention to Rhett Butler, who proceeds to “save” her… though she probably didn’t need saving.

Scarlett O’Hara’s selfishness is the key to her success, and surprisingly, she is never truly punished for her twisted lack of morals. Her love of money and her lavish lifestyle is the motivating force for all her actions. Yet, she is seemingly blind to her own corruption, looking down on women like Belle Watling who sell themselves to survive, when she does the very same with her opportune marriages and Southern Belle play-acting. If anything Watling stands above Scarlett, not only in her absence of hypocrisy, but in her empathetic nature. If there is one thing that Scarlett cannot do, is to put her in others shoes, and understand what others are feeling. If she can do this, she doesn’t care to, preferring to constantly indulge in satisfying her own base needs and desires.

Though, her APPARENT selfishness is also what was necessary for most women to survive during most post-war eras. They had no choice in the matter but to watch their brothers, sons, husbands and fathers go and fight, while they stayed home and continued living. Scarlett’s unhappiness that her lifestyle is changing seems childish and even disrespectful to the sacrifices being made. At the same time though, her opinion was never asked, and in the end, she and other women like her were the ones left to pick up the pieces, rebuild and care for the few men who return.

Selfishness aside, the only motivator in Scarlett’s life is her “love” for Ashley Wilkes. There is no apparent reason for this affection, for one thing, he never demonstrates any particularly sympathetic or interesting qualities worth pursuing, even Scarlett seems unsure of how to qualify her attraction. She sees him through rose coloured glasses, seems him as far more virtuous and important than he is, is she blinded by her own need to gather and have, and him once being the symbol of great wealth in the world of her childhood. All associations of bravery, honour and honesty she attaches to him are vague and quite frankly, values she shows no apparent respect or interest in. They seem to be remnants of childhood, or absurd justification for her need to collect him. Later in the film, he does seem to transform from being representative of wealth to a symbol of the life she lost, but as much as Scarlett says she wants her pre-war life back, she seems to have far more power post-war. She becomes a matriarch, she orchestrates Tara, starts a successful business, runs in, and wealthier than her wildest dreams with her marriage to Rhett.

What of her romance with Rhett Butler? He told her early on that they are cut of the same cloth, and in concept their marriage works remarkably well… until of course, Ashley comes back into play. Just as he is Scarlett’s only weakness, Scarlett is Rhett’s only weakness. Their romance is as violent as their personalities, and involves a surprising amount of ruthlessness, psychological and physical. Even as much as the film gets away with from it’s era, a lot of the most potent and “dangerous” scenes are recounted by witnesses rather than portrayed. The true nature of their relationship is barely touched upon, though it is quite clear that it is stormy, and the rampant indulgence only worsens Scarlett’s self-obsession. And yet, on the flipside, Rhett does provide her with what she needs on a level beyond materialism, though she seems unaware of it. He cares for her in a way that no one else could, except for maybe her mother, and neither loves her for the “superficial” airs she puts on, but her very real superficiality that she carefully hides from the world.

Is Scarlett a bad person? I wouldn’t say she is, she certainly isn’t a “good” one like Melanie Wilkes is, and does not even hold up to her apparent soul mate in depravity and greed Rhett Butler. She is at the very least one of the most fascinating and compelling characters of the screen, and is far more nuanced than even this little “essay” lets on. Scenes like her shooting the Yankee soldier, her discovering the death of her mother, and her miscarriage are only just a handful that only further complicates our perception of her.

The film is so much more than Scarlett, and I’m sure I don’t need to re-iterate the value of the production values, the iconic scenes and the strong performances. Though I am hardly a technical guru, and to take my opinion on remastered anything is pretty futile, the print I saw looked really good. The audience seemed pretty involved, and I was probably the youngest person there. I have to admit some of the race stuff is pretty cringe worthy, but it is also not quite nearly as bad as I remember.

This is a project I wish I had thought of, the fifty best films of the decade, one day at a time just in time to end on December 31st 2009. A worthy and ambitious project. CHECK IT OUT

This is a blog I like, this is a blog to read, this is a blog that something something. Babe!

It’s been a very long time since I attempted one of these, and since I’m finally almost done with silents for my classes I thought I’d give them their due. This one is going to be pretty difficult, so good luck!

1. 

Answer:

2. 

Answer: Leaves from Satan’s Book (Wolfie)

3.

Answer: Hands of Orlac (Ian)

4.

Answer:

5.

Answer:

6.

Answer:  Mr. Wu (Wolfie)

7.

Answer:

8.

Answer:

9.

Answer:

10.

Answer: The White Sister (Wolfie)

Laura Palmer has doe eyes, and when she meets the big bad wolf, her pupils dilate, her eyelids flutter and they fill with tears. Is that what love is? She surrounds herself with coloured light, distorting the true face of God, because we cannot look into the eyes of Our Father without losing hold of what he really is.

I don’t remember what happened yesterday, and I couldn’t make sense of it if I did, but I do know how I felt. Feelings are even more elusive than events, but they are my own, and they are contained. Where will I spend my last hours? Will you remember me in the morning?

She asked how she even got into bed last night, and I didn’t know how to answer. I’m not ashamed of what happened, but I’d rather not talk about it. I don’t remember you being so soft and vulnerable, even though you were so bold last night. We can be one, but you can never be me.

Where was I? Oh right, there was a dream, and you were there, and you were there, and you were there. It was quiet, and yet everyone was speaking very strangely. All through our life we are walking through the valley of death, and its shadow is continually upon us. Of all my commentaries there is but one that agrees with me, but that makes no difference.

The man cracks a smile and leers. He revolts me, but I fear the day when he no longer looks at me as though I am all his, and nothing is coming between us, not even clothes.

Kiss me one last time, I need your breath inside of me.

Comparing an experience with great art with a religious experience is old hat and perhaps inappropriate. As someone with no formal education or connection to religion, my use of the statement seems ignorant, if not outright hypocritical. I’ve never had a profound experience relating to religion or theology, any profundity I’ve felt in my life has been through art. Therefore, any religious experience I would have, could only logically be equated with an artistic experience.

We cannot be shaped by who we want to be, we can only be measured by how we accept change. Do we lack the capacity to form and shape what comes? No, we have some power, but part of that power is our ability to accept that we have no control.

It’s impossible to measure the value of our actions, there are an infinite number of outcome to an infinite number of possibilities. Or is there? Some things are most certainly impossibilities, there are moments, things and situations that could never occur no matter what series of events take place. And then, despite the number of infinites involved, there is still only one definite reality (some might argue this). The infinite alternatives are theoritical, and inherently impossible. There is a limit to our existence, and yet, our greatest struggle is accepting this as a truism.

If we have no control over the future, how can we believe to have control over the past?

The beauty of Kieslowski is inspiring the awe in the intangible. Sometimes the unknown or something beyond us can inspire a sort of feeling of belittling, like we are nothing in a world that continues to spiral out of control, as everything drifts further and further apart. Kieslowski’s use of light, colour and music… things that feel very real, but that you can never hold onto.

You can’t hold onto a kiss. It’s real, you feel it, but it’s not something you can hold in your hand like you would an apple or a book.

I wish I were a poet and could evoke that feeling through words. I think we underestimate how much like music poetry can be. Great poetry is like great music, it is just as powerful and just as elusive.

Why is there such peace in Blue? Even at it’s most angry and heart wrenching, it feels like a trance… a dream. Like the softest kiss, the softest touch. Something that is barely there, something you cannot touch, cannot hold, but is everything. What is love?

Breezy (Clint Eastwood, 1973)

Was this the face that launched a thousand ships, and burnt the topless towers of Ileum?

-Christopher Marlowe