Beauty for Ashes

HUGO- the movie.  I LOVED it! It was deliberate without being draggy, emotional without being overly sentimental, antique and modern all at the same time. There was a message within it that resonated with me, one I want to try to nail down with words.

George was on the cutting edge of cinema creation when this art form was in its infancy in France. He enjoyed the thrill of creating, directing, acting, casting, writing---a stimulating blend of artistry. His movies were celebrated and he was so successful that he was able to construct a glass building in which to build his sets and capture the light perfectly for shooting his films.That glass building epitomized his success.

Alas, along came the great war. The public taste changed. The soldiers who returned home after the war no longer had an interest in the sweet and innocent tales that George portrayed on cinema. People had been sobered, and the popular culture swung in a different direction. George no longer enjoyed the thrill of popularity and his movie making venture crashed to a halt. He tore down his glass building and in a fit of passion burned the films, the props, and sets that had been icons of days gone by.

George became morose, with a bitter edge. He opened a shop in which he tinkered with repairing toys but he was unfulfilled, forgotten, and secretive about his past. His deep loss was a festering wound but he sought to hide it and go on with his life.

Unbeknownst to him, at the heyday of his cinema making career, a young and starry-eyed boy had idolized him from afar, devouring each and every film, visiting the glass house, relishing every new thing that George created. That young man grew up to collect every bit of film and memorabilia he could get his hands on, compiling an astounding collection of George's work and even writing an in-depth book on the subject. George's genius, his passion, and the value of his pioneering artistry-- all of it was fully grasped by this dedicated admirer.

As fate would have it, Hugo---the movie's namesake---was able to bring George and the young protege together. This meeting culminated in a huge, public reminisce in which George was able to share with an adoring audience the slice of history with which he was so intimately acquainted. His movies had come full circle; he enjoyed a revival of interest in his work because in hindsight all could now see clearly that they laid the foundation for an art form that has enjoyed a permanency that no one could have foreseen in the early 20th century.

The kernels of truth here, for me, had application to my own life. The spiritual movement to which I have given my best years enjoyed a heyday in the 1970s and 80s. Even in the 90s there was a residual flush of popularity that remained. But we are in a new time and culture has shifted. The movement is no longer the new, the exciting, the popular. In many ways I could relate to George as he watched his beloved glass movie house being bulldozed. My life pursuits have been less tangible than George's, being spiritual investments in people rather than to an art form. Layers of ashes cloak the glowing ember that has burned brightly so many years.

Oh but wait! There is a young person in the wings, an enthusiastic disciple waiting to take up that ember and light a torch with it and hold it up high. The value of the pursuit is not lost on this individual, indeed he seeks to fan it to flame once again and carry on the work. Oh joy! The last is better than the first because it has gained the perspective of years and the contributions of youth.

As I watched that huge audience cheering for George in his final public presentation, I thought of the great cloud of witnesses that are cheering me on, cheering me home. Be steadfast, immoveable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that your labor is not in vain in the Lord.
~ I Corinthians 15:58 NKJV

National Poetry Month: Poetry on the Big Screen

APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding

Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing

Memory and desire, stirring

Dull roots with spring rain. ~T.S. Eliot

If April is the cruellest month, the fact that it is National Poetry Month softens the cruelties considerably. I love reading the poems that other bloggers post during this month; invariably these offerings give me the pleasure of revisiting old favorites and discovering new voices.

When reading great poetry, I find myself musing and carrying on an inner conversation. It's very satisfying to the soul, but HEARING great poetry adds another layer of gratification.

Here are three movies that have contributed to my enjoyment of poetry:

Bright Star (2008)- A biographical memoir of John Keats. It is a voluptuous visual feast, with outstanding period costumes and piercing renditions of the romanticist's poems. Although it borders on being sentimental, there was a fair amount of tension successfully portrayed as Keats spent the final years of his short life feverishly "gleaning his teeming brain" but constantly distracted by the captivating Fanny Brawne. A nice review of the movie can be found here.

Wit (2001)--a poignant cancer story, interlaced with John Donne's poetry.The most memorable line was from "Death Be Not Proud" : 

'And death shall be no more' comma 'death, thou shalt die.'

 Nothing but a breath, a comma separates life from life everlasting.

The Dead Poets Society (1989)--one of my all time favorite movies. John Keating is the inspiring and very unconventional teacher in a conservative, stringent boys' school. His own joy of living is contagious and sparks a love of poetry in these boys that is heartwarming to behold. Tinged with a bit of tragedy, but overall a bracing, thrilling, tonic for the soul. I periodically go to YouTube and watch segments such as "O CAPTAIN! my Captain!" and "Carpe Diem".  Memorable and timeless.

Cinematic Poetry: Wit

If there is such a thing as cinematic poetry, Wit fits the description. John Donne's poems serve as the backdrop for this drama, the story of a middle aged college professor (Vivian Bearing) who has spent her life studying and teaching his poetry. During her final, eight- month battle with ovarian cancer, Vivian has much to say in monologue fashion. Her words reflect some of the wit that John Donne is known for:

"This is my play's last scene Here... 'Heavens appoint my pilgrimage's last mile And my race Idly, yet quickly run Hath this last pace My span's last inch My minute's last point And gluttonous death Will instantly unjoint my body and soul' John Donne... I've always particularly liked that poem. In the abstract. Now I find the image of my minute's last point, a little too, shall we say... pointed."

Vivian flashes back to a time when she sat at the feet of her mentor, learning about the significant comma in Donne's poem Death Be Not Proud:

"Do you think that the punctuation of the last line of this sonnet is merely an insignificant detail? The sonnet begins with a valiant struggle with Death calling on all the forces of intellect and drama to vanquish the enemy. But it is ultimately about overcoming the seemingly insuperable barriers separating life death and eternal life. In the edition you choose, this profoundly simple meaning is sacrificed to hysterical punctuation.

'And Death, Capital D, shall be no more, semi-colon. Death, Capital D comma, thou shalt die, exclamation mark! '

If you go in for this sort of thing I suggest you take up Shakespeare. Gardner's edition of the Holy Sonnets returns to the Westmoreland manuscript of 1610, not for sentimental reasons I assure you, but because Helen Gardner is a scholar. It reads,

'And death shall be no more' comma 'death, thou shalt die.'

Nothing but a breath, a comma separates life from life everlasting.

Very simple, really. With the original punctuation restored Death is no longer something to act out on a stage with exclamation marks. It is a comma. A pause.

In this way, the uncompromising way one learns something from the poem, wouldn't you say? Life, death, soul, God, past present. Not insuperable barriers. Not semi-colons. Just a comma. "

Poetry, lovely though it be, cannot meet Vivian's true human need in the final moments of her life. The mentor who spoke the eloquent words above is Vivian's last visitor and she offers to recite Donne as a well-meaning act of consolation. But Vivian's need is not poetry; her need is love. In a most touching final scene, the elderly mentor climbs into bed with Vivian and extends that love to her. She cradles her head and speaks to her soothingly, as a mother. She opens her bag and takes out a children's book (The Runaway Bunny) and reads it to her. Vivian is comforted and quieted by her touch and her simple ministrations.

This is the kind of movie that leaves a mark on your heart and mind, and I've found myself thinking on it and digesting its message for several weeks following my initial viewing. If you are a crier, you'll want to have kleenex handy for this one.

As an addendum: Shortly after viewing Wit, I came across some interesting information about "poetry of wit" in my current reading, How Does a Poem Mean? The author cites John Donne as the consummate poet of wit. This type of poet "welcome into their poems the rush of every sort of experience." In contrast, poets of high seriousness (Wordsworth is an example) are more concerned with diction and fine writing. This type of poet would exclude certain words or metaphors as being crass or unworthy of mention.

It's always enriching to connect threads of understanding from disparate sources. That is the delight of intellectual freedom.

A Couple of Movie Recommendations

We have a movie night at our house about twice a month, a la Netflix. I am the official family movie selector and have picked my share of duds. I'll spare you the details on those ☹ but will gladly share two recent stand-out movies that I can unreservedly recommend for family viewing.

Good Night Mister Tom is a Masterpiece Theatre movie (1999) made for television. It is a war story filled with heartache, tenderness, and unexpected love. The crusty Mr. Oakley does not wish to care for a London waif, but capitulates to the duty of sheltering a boy named William in his country home during the bombing sieges of WWII. He uncovers the fact that the boy has been badly abused, and seeks to provide him with the simple elements of a healthy life. The old man's ability to love has grown rusty, but is fully revived when he perceives the boy's deep emotional hunger. The young man is able to express himself as an artist, while Mr. Oakley dusts off the organ and rediscovers his musical gifts. Oh yes, and there is a beloved dog in the story--the cherry on the sundae. ★★★★★



Gifted Hands: The Ben Carson Story is a medical drama, a biography of the famous neurosurgeon who is best known for separating Siamese twins. Our family had recently finished the book by the same title and we were delighted to follow up by watching this new (2009) movie featuring the Oscar winning Cuba Gooding Jr. as Dr. Carson. This is an inspiring rags-to-riches story and the movie managed to capture the heart of the autobiography. Ben Carson grew up in a lower class neighborhood in Detroit, the son of a hard-working, nearly illiterate young mother. He never knew his Mom was illiterate because she preached reading, reading, reading to her two sons. Somehow she grasped the fact that television was keeping them dumb, so she laid down the law and limited her boys to 2 hours per week. In addition, she assigned them to read two books per week--books of their choice obtained from the public library.

Their transformation was amazing. Ben rose from being the lowest in his class to the highest. The intellectual discipline he achieved enable him to fulfill his lifelong dream of becoming a neurosurgeon. He is arguably the greatest surgeon of our time and serves as chief of neurosurgery at Johns Hopkins Hospital.

Ben Carson is a fantastic role model for young people, a real life hero that makes pop culture icons pale in comparison. ★★★★★

Dead Poets Society

I'm not sure how it is that I missed this movie when it was in its heyday, but I wouldn't have appreciated it much in 1989 anyway because I hadn't yet fully developed a love of poetry. Oh, I enjoyed it, but I didn't love it.

The poet-teacher (Robin Williams) sparks a love of poetry in his preppy students, and in the process they learn to think, to feel, to appreciate beauty, to take risks, and to seize the day (carpe diem!) I've come to believe that poetry is an indispensable tenet of a liberal (generous) education, and that yes--- it really can contribute significantly to the health of society.

I loved watching Robin William's (a.k.a. John Keating) joi de vivre and his unorthodox teaching methods. Learn about poetry cadences by doing military drills outside. View the world from a different angle by standing on the desk. Read poetry by candlelight in a dark cave. Evoke laughing and weeping from your students by living with them.

There's a bit of tragedy in this movie, and some rough spots that I would speed over quickly when watching with children. The poetic word set events in motion amongst these typical high school students, having an almost domino-effect on their lives. Witnessing it makes me want to "eat and drink the precious words" all the more. Poetry keeps us young.