"I'll never write about this online,"...
...I tell my sister, and as soon as I utter those words, just as happens as soon as I think them (and, believe me, I think them a lot), I know I will have to write about this online.
    The subject of my embarrassment? A movie about which I'm sure most of you have heard, if not viewed, City of Angels. Mom and I watched this movie a long, long time ago. It's not a part of "our" (I put that in parentheses because, as of a few days ago, it's become a part of "my") movie collection. As Roger Ebert mentions in his review of the movie (linked to the name of the movie, above), it's a knock off of an earlier movie, Wings of Desire. Both movies haunt me, although to different degrees. Both movies are filled with yearning, although the yearning is handled with much less glibness and sentimentality in the older version. I've seen both, so had Mom. I loved the older one and remembered, with embarrassed fondness, the newer one. Mom's preference was for the newer one, probably because it's easier to look at; it's brighter and more colorful throughout the entire movie. The difference that led me to acquire a copy of the newer version is that I was able to easily and very cheaply purchase it about a week ago when I found myself remembering it and needing to watch it. Well, not the whole thing, although I did watch the entire movie when it appeared on a TV channel at the same time I hankered for it. What I found myself needing to do was to watch all the scenes featuring primarily or exclusively the angels over and over and over...
    It's not that I believe in angels, although, on the level of believing in supernatural beings, well, I have my irrational moments, many, in fact. Since I can remember I've felt "protected", which I know I've mentioned occasionally in this journal. It's an unreasonable, capricious feeling. I don't even know from what I'm "protected", frankly, because plenty of things have happened to me that, well, if I am, indeed, protected, you'd think they wouldn't have happened. I've occasionally mentioned this "protection" to people, when I'm trying to convince people not to worry about me or about themselves when they are in my presence, but I don't mention it nearly as often as I feel it. Almost two decades ago, though, I was startled one day when I was at a local car insurance company office paying my bi-yearly bill and reviewing my coverage. I sat across an officious desk from a man I'd never met and would never again meet. He was in a suit and tie, I was in an acceptably appointed work outfit. We were in the middle of a coverage by coverage examination of my policy, deciding what items to raise, lower and retain. Suddenly the man raised his head, focused behind me and announced, "You have two guardians. Did you know that? Oh, wait a minute, there's another. Make that three."
    I was stunned. I didn't respond immediately. When I finally recovered my wits I said, "Oh. Thank you for telling me. I've suspected for years that I'm 'protected', but, you know, I had no idea about the specifics."
    "You're welcome," he said. We continued with our discussion of my auto insurance coverage.
    Truth is, I still don't think of my "protection" in terms of supernatural, trifold guardianship. I don't even think of it in terms of beings. I can't actually define how I think of it, since, when I think of it, it has to do with feeling, not linguistics.
    Anyway, back to the movie. The first couple of times I watched selected angel scenes of the movie, I didn't think about why viewing them comforted me, I just luxuriated in them, sometimes with the sound off. When I began to think about why I was glued to these scenes the first thing that came to mind was the panoramic perspective of most of my chosen scenes; the opening scenes of the movie; the shore scenes; the from-a-great-height shots of various locations (some shots of which do not include angels but suggest an angelic perspective). These scenes reminded me of many more scenes in the Wings of Desire movie, which, while savoring my memories, led me to decide to rent that video as soon as possible (which means, as soon as I return the videos I now have)...I haven't purchased it because the City of Angels video is far, far cheaper than even used copies of Wings of Desire, which is no longer in official circulation.
    I'm thinking, now, that my current addiction to these scenes has something to do with a developing need to lift myself out of my grief doldrums and replace myself in an omniscient perspective. I'm thinking this perspective will make it easier for me to negotiate life without Mom, the thought of which continues to paralyze me at awkward, inopportune moments, with grief and yearning. For reasons I haven't delineated, nothing else is working for me: Not expressions of sympathetic, empathetic or compassionate sorrow; not reminders that my experience of grief is universal and a part of being human; not stories that insist on placing my loved one (and other dead ones) "someplace else" and somehow aware of me, even though I independently indulge myself in such stories; not occasional monologues which I imagine to be dialogues directed toward Mom and "the spirits" of others I know who've died; certainly not episodes of Touched by an Angel, which I haven't been able to watch since Mom died.
    So, you know, I don't think it's the idea of angels that's captivating me about the above mentioned movie and my memories of the original version. I think it's the perspective which, despite the flaws of the newer version, and the love story, which does nothing for me, is well and achingly portrayed by the cinematography and set design.
    Whatever it is, I still find it embarrassing that I will, this afternoon, at some point when I'm involved in an innocuous death business task and unexpectedly overcome by grief, switch on the DVD player and expertly select (I now have their sequence numbers memorized) scenes from City of Angels in order to jump-start me out of temporary emotional paralysis.
    It's true, I guess: Do whatever it takes to get you through The Night. It's also true: Being human? Too, too weird.
    Later.
- posted by Gail Rae @ 13:26   email  this post