Movie Night

I’ve been contemplating the role of the surrogate partner in the film The Sessions for weeks. Helen Hunt gives a compelling performance as a therapist that goes all the way with her clients out of compassion, a desire to heal, and a self-declared love of sex. Poet Mark O’Brien, paralyzed after contracting polio as a child, seeks a sex surrogate to make his dream of exploring his latent sexuality a reality. The film is based on autobiographical writings by O’Brien. The Sessions is tastefully filmed, poignant, and guaranteed to make you giggle. I would watch it again in a heartbeat.

This spring I devoured all things Jack Kerouac. It started with the movie On the Road. A film filled with strange moments of seemingly unlikely erotic encounters, drug use, and wild adventures. Or to sum it up nicely: sex, drugs, and jazz. Filmed with the eye of a photographer, On the Road is aesthetically striking. Director Walter Salles did a brilliant job of adapting Kerouac’s book to film. No small undertaking. The film brings believability and humanity to the characters that the book lacks. Actor Sam Riley’s gentle portrayal of Sal Paradise makes him endearing in a way that Kerouac’s writing never accomplishes. (I could fall in love with Sal. An open-minded, attractive French-Canadian writer? Umm... Yes!) Maybe it’s because the film doesn’t stay true to the book that it’s so successful. A point I’m sure hard-core Kerouac fans will find frustrating. 

As for the other semi-fictional books that I’ve read by Kerouac (are any of his books true fiction?), my favourites are Big Sur and The Dharma Bums. The Subterraneans leaves one with much to ponder on the nature of men. The dreadful way protagonist Leo Percepied treats his romantic partner Mardou Fox is exasperating! I do appreciate Kerouac’s honesty in his writing. He leaves nothing out. You see how he ticks, which can be wildly unattractive, yet enthralling. Was Kerouac candid in his writing? Or was he merely taking his readers on a long, fantastic ride? Regrettably, we may never know for certain. Alcoholism killed Kerouac prematurely at the age of 47.

Off the Map

Even though I lost interest in television years ago, I still enjoy watching movies. I usually borrow DVDs from the library. I often have little idea what I’m getting into and this is a hit-or-miss way of film watching. Still, I come across some very interesting films by this open-minded way of selecting DVDs. The film Off the Map captured my attention immediately with its cinematography—stunning cloudscapes of New Mexico’s desert—and unusual characters that I can’t help admire.

I’m captivated by off-grid living and ways of being that are more in tune with nature. The way the couple in the film respectfully parent their daughter, Bo, in many ways, is what I aspire to accomplish with my own daughter. In fact, I don’t think they ever say “No” to their daughter—ever. Bo says and does as she pleases. She has a mind of her own that tends toward imaginative thinking and a thoughtful/loving nature. She does do a few alarming things though that her mother, Arlene, handles with grace and calm. In fact, I’m not sure anyone could be as non-reactive and relaxed as Arlene is portrayed, which leads to my favourite scene in the film...

William, the IRS agent that is sent to audit the family, has an allergic reaction to a bee sting and finds himself at the mercy of this unconventional family. As he’s recovering, he can’t help but fall in love with the beauty of the desert and the free-spirited Arlene. When he declares that he’s in love with Arlene and cannot hide it, she says, “That’s good.” There’s no ego in her response, it’s that she understands how love happens when your heart opens up to life. She tells William that New Mexico is a powerful place and that he should take as much time as he needs (and remain with the family) until he gets his bearings. When he asks if her husband will mind, she confidently says no. Later in the film, it’s apparent that the husband is as benevolent as Arlene is. He makes his own brotherly (fatherly?) connection with William that is most loving and healing for everyone involved. 

The Diving Bell and the Butterfly

I picked up a film a few days ago called The Diving Bell and the Butterfly. A true story of a man who has a massive stroke in his early 40s leaving him devoid of even the smallest pleasure—like swallowing food or hugging his children. Although his brain is functioning perfectly, he is “locked-in” his body. His only form of communication is to blink his left eye. He ends up “dictating” a book about his incredible experience, which is the inspiration for the film. I’m reading the book now that is equally, if not more, touching than the movie.

My heart is flooded with emotion from what this story has resurrected in my mind. A sense of urgency to live life fully—without regret. In truth, I live my life fairly intensely. I love without reserve. I give my full attention to whoever shows up. But I still do my fair share of resisting my life situation. Often feeling a sense of impatience and sadness with how things are unfolding.

Jean-Dominique Bauby’s story reminds me how much we take for granted and just how amazing the human form is. We don’t need to add anything to ourselves. We are perfect just the way we are. Bauby was forced into a state of surrender. There was no way for him to remove himself from his situation. He had to adapt to endure his suffering. The remarkable thing is he does just that! He composes this beautiful story. He bares his soul. On one hand there is his loneliness, despair, and frustration for his predicament and on the other his ability to experience heart-swelling gratitude for the kindness of medical staff and loved ones. Here’s an excerpt that had me in tears last night. [Sandrine is his speech therapist]:

Sometimes the phone interrupts our work, and I take advantage of Sandrine’s presence to be in touch with loved ones, to intercept and catch passing fragments of life, the way you catch a butterfly. My daughter Céleste tells me of her adventures with her pony. In five months she will be nine. My father tells me how hard it is to stay on his feet. He is fighting undaunted through his ninety-third year. These two are outer links of the chain of love which surrounds and protects me. I often wonder about the effect of these one-way conversations on those at the other end of the line. I am overwhelmed by them. How dearly I would love to be able to respond with something other than silence to these tender calls. I know that some of them find it unbearable. Sweet Florence refuses to speak to me unless I first breathe noisily into the receiver which Sandrine holds glued to my ear. ‘Are you there, Jean-Do?’ she asks anxiously over the air.

And I have to admit that at times I do not know anymore.

The human body has its limitations and in a way we are all locked-in. Perhaps this is why this story is so powerful. It stirs a memory in our souls of the agony of being in human form. At the same time, our bodies and minds, that are so complex and extraordinary, have the capacity to experience beauty, grace, and the deepest emotion. There is much to delight in. There is much to be grateful for.

Two years ago in late summer, I was speeding down the highway to attend a wedding that I was late for. Butterflies were migrating and gathering nectar from the wildflowers that line the 401. Every now and again, a butterfly would fly into traffic. I watched their delicate bodies tossed about by the rush and heat of the cars and transport trucks. It seemed hopeless to me! How would they ever survive in these conditions? Yet some must and do because butterflies still grace my garden and delight me on my walks in the warm weather. We are not so different from these fragile beauties. What a world it would be if we treated each other, and all things, with reverence and tenderness. If I have any ambition in life, it is to do just that.

Note: In the film, Bauby’s “wife” (the mother of his children) is depicted in the most flattering light—visiting and caring for him in hospital. According to an article published in the Guardian though, it was his lover Florence Ben Sadoun who remained lovingly by his side and even held his hand when he died. Apparently, she has also written a book entitled La Fausse Veuve. If I can find an English translation, I intend to read that as well.