#8 Signs

Top 10’s – FAVORITE FILMS

#8 – SIGNS – M. Night Shyamalan, 2002

There’s nothing new about alien invasion. Our society fairly obsessed with the extra-solar, the paranormal, and all things out of this world. But, just as he did in his two previous efforts, The Sixth Sense and Unbreakable, director/writer M. Night Shyamalan takes this usual Hollywood subject matter and finds a way to once again make it extraordinary.

M. Night’s Signs, stars Mel Gibson as Graham, a former Reverend questioning his faith and beliefs after the recent death of his wife in a fatal accident. With him, is his brother Merrill (Joaquin Phoenix) who has come to stay while Graham learns to cope with the realities of raising two small children on his own. But Signs doesn’t waste a moment on setup, jumping right into the meat of the thing, preferring instead to interweave character development into the fabric of the story itself, rather than taking some artificial “get to know the preacher” break. Graham’s crops have been damaged, trampled down to construct perfect geometric shapes which only take form when seen from the sky. Crop signs, which as everyone knows are a hoax. Dismissing them as such, Graham moves on, but things only get worse, leaving him questioning his beliefs still further and eventually fighting for his family’s life.

Signs is a deeply personal and intentionally “small” film. Which is why it is near and dear to my heart. There is something about small film “feel.” Call it intimacy if you like. Set in a small town, in a small farmhouse, wherein lives a small, slightly damaged family, Director M. Night clears out distractions of momentous world events; choosing instead to focus on how those gigantic events outside effect this tiny, faith challenged family within this movie’s small world. We’ve seen massive alien invasions before, M. Night doesn’t go there. We’re watching how one family, alone in the universe, copes when the entire world is falling apart. When danger is on their doorstep, when Armageddon is just around the corner, what will one small family do? How did they cope, the night the aliens came and all the world outside was going mad?

Questions of faith, belief, and hope are all raised and explored in Signs. The beauty of Signs, and indeed everything M. Night does, is his abject determination to make his stories about MORE than just some cliche Hollywood plot device. Yes, Signs is about aliens, and yes it’s intense, scary, and all the other great things you’d expect to get only from a true master director like Alfred Hitchcock. But it’s also about faith. It’s about family. It’s about personal connections with people and how those ties allow us to cope with loss. It’s about finding meaning and hope in life whatever we might face. Because of that ability to entwine deep rooted meaning right in along with the action, terror, and excitement of his films. In my opinion with Signs, M. Night Shyamalan has created one of the great masterpieces of modern suspense-thrillers… again.

Signs is War of the Worlds for real. It’s your world if the unthinkable, unbelievable, Hollywood stories you’ve watched on TV for so many years actually happened. What would you do? Where would you go? What what it take for you to believe and how would it ultimately affect the way you personally see the world? Reality is M. Night’s gift, and he brings it tied up with a mind blowing, sci-fi/thriller bow.

This is a film to simply let yourself get caught up in. Go in knowing nothing and let M. Night, Gibson, Pheonix, and the rest take you into their world right along with them. Nothing is wasted. Just look at the way each moment, each device is used. The way he uses the TV, the baby monitor, all of it to develop these organically real moments for this family, these PEOPLE. The sharp nervous laughter, the emotional edge this film is constructed on… all of it pulling you deeper to make you really identify with the the reality of an unreality. Just look at the way he directs this family, the way M. Night lets them interact… the way he gets so much out of child actors time and time again.

The magic behind this film is present and intact. The idea feels familiar, even the music is intentionally crafted to hearken back to memories of late nights at home watching “The Twighlight Zone.” But Night and crew use all of that to twist you and pull you and take you places you’ve never really been before.

When this film ended, and the credits rolled for the first time, I just sat. Sat and stared. Watched the names roll by and the audience file out. I just knew I witnessed something special and  I needed to see it again. More than any other filmmaker at that time, M. Night Shyamalan connected with his audience and his characters in a totally unique way to transport us so effortlessly into the world of “what ifs. ” See it and believe. See it and question: What if you were there?

My life changed when I first watched Signs. I have no problem making that statement. It was and still is everything I could ever want in a film. Trailers and commercials expose this crop circled movie as a supernatural thriller, but M. Night Shyamalan himself is careful to note that the center of the movie is really on one’s faith rather than crop circles, aliens, or anything related to such. ‘Signs’ is a mixture of things: humor, emotion, frightening elements, and a factor found in some of the scariest of movies–silence. With pure intelligence, It is no way a stretch to call this movie Shyamalan’s Hitchcock film. The isolated location, the small cast, the tight script. This all points to where Shyamalan works best. I mentioned the word faith earlier and make no mistake about it, Signs is a film about faith, not aliens and not crops.

We all are aware of faith. Whether we acknowledge it or not has no regards on it’s existence. Mel Gibson’s character is dropped exactly in the thick of that situation. We are meant to ride the journey with him. We grow with him, we root for him and at some points, we despise him. But most importantly, we never lose him. Signs effectively evokes you to laugh, cry and be frightened. As does an exercise in faith, ask Graham Hess.

in defense of m. night shyamalan

The idea that M. Night Shyamalan is ‘box office poison’ isn’t confirmed by the facts of his fourteen years in the Hollywood limelight.  In fact, through a mix of luck and random happenstance, the man has managed to all-but-avoid actual box office destruction.

For better or worse, the general public knows who M. Night Shyamalan is.  His name on the marquee reflects that you’re not going to get a conventional genre film, that there may be something else up its sleeve.  Maybe there is a twist; maybe there is just the occasionally off-kilter sensibilities that he brings to his mainstream fare.  After Earth disappointed partially because it looked somewhat generic.  Putting M. Night Shyamalan’s name in the credits alerts audiences that there will be at least something a little different about this would-be star vehicle.  M. Night Shyamalan’s name in the credits would have signaled that this was not necessarily a conventional summer blockbuster.

For the general populace who don’t rigidly follow the industry, alerting them to the fact that the director of After Earth also directed The Sixth Sense and Signs won’t immediately bring to mind that he also directed The Last Airbender and Lady In the Water.  When 20th Century Fox trumpeted that Planet of the Apes was ‘from the director of Batman and Sleepy Hollow‘, audiences didn’t immediately think, “Hey, it’s also the guy who directed that Ed Wood movie I didn’t see and that Mars Attacks! that I didn’t think was funny!” M. Night Shyamalan has taken his licks critically, but actual commercial disaster has mostly eluded him. To most general moviegoers he’s still that guy who directed The Sixth Sense, a movie that still holds up as far more than just its twist epilogue nearly fifteen years later, and Signs, that  alien invasion Mel Gibson movie that scared the crap out of them in theaters eleven years ago.

His two out-and-out blockbusters are of course The Sixth Sense ($293 million domestic, or basically the top-grossing horror film/thriller of all time) and Signs ($232 million domestic, following a $60 million opening weekend).  And the one in between, Unbreakable, was an $80 million superhero deconstruction, which ironically came right on the cusp of the modern comic book film fad.  It received mixed-positive reviews and opened with $46 million over Thanksgiving 2000 and ended up with $248 million worldwide.  Unbreakable, in my opinion his masterwork, wasn’t a box office world-beater, but a profitable venture for all involved and considered either his best or his second best film by most. Most prefer The Sixth Sense, but both are among the mainstream American best films of the last fifteen years.

But the one after Signs, which by the way still works as a deliciously fun and thoughtful popcorn thriller? M. Night’s next film was The Village. Well, *that* one was a stinker, right?  Well, no.  While I’d argue it was not a thriller but a somber political metaphor, the false marketing, based entirely around M. Night Shyamalan’s marquee value (no big stars like Bruce Willis or Mel Gibson to help him out), was enough to scare up $50 million on opening weekend.  Yes the film was rejected by audiences and flamed out with $115 million domestic, but the $60 million “period piece” still earned $256 million worldwide.  Next came his only out-and-out flop, which was both a blessing and curse commercially speaking.

With no stars larger than Paul Giamatti and a marketing campaign that couldn’t really pretend it was a Signs-type thriller, the creepy bedtime story Lady In the Water remains M. Night’s only bomb.  The $70 million picture, his first away from Disney, opened with just $18 million (pretty high for a Paul Giamatti vehicle, but very low for a Shyamalan film) and closed with $72 million worldwide.  If you ask most people to rattle off M. Night Shyamalan movies, they probably wouldn’t even remember that one.  So while M. Night takes the commercial hit, his artistic reputation is mostly intact since so few outside his fan base actually saw the thing.

But The Happening was a bomb, right?  Sorry, nope.  The $50 million 20th Century Fox thriller, starring Mark Wahlberg and Zooey Deschanel, was advertised not just on M. Night’s reputation as the helmer of The Sixth Sense and Signs, but also on the tease of this film being his first R-rated venture. In a time when the industry was terrified of the R-rating, it was genuinely hilarious to see Fox use it as a selling point.  So the film, sold mostly on Shyamalan’s reputation, opened with $30 million over opening weekend.  The film was a quick-kill hit, ending its domestic run with $64 million, but thanks to Fox’s overseas muscle, it earned $163 million worldwide, or about triple its budget. Like it or hate it, it was another hit for Shyamalan. Now we get to the film that arguably should have ended his career, the stunningly terrible The Last Airbender.

I can defend Paul Giamatti’s performance in Lady in the Water and I can defend some of the kookier visuals and quirkier dialogue in The Happening, but The Last Airbender is basically indefensible. But it was not a flop in any sense of the word. Released in summer 2010, the Paramount adaptation of an allegedly quite-good animated adventure series was ravaged by critics (myself included), but audiences still flocked to it.  We can debate how much of that $69 million five-day opening weekend was due to Shyamalan versus the appeal of the Nickelodeon cartoon.  And we can arguably say that a better received film would have started a new franchise, since $319 million worldwide on a $150 million budget is pretty much what got G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra an eventual sequel.  But the film still had Shyamalan’s trademarked visual pizzazz and Shyamalan had his third-biggest box office smash of his career.

So now we get to After Earth, a film that is being discussed as a big flop as far as summer movies go.  Well, the good news for M. Night Shyamalan is that he’s nowhere to be found on the advertising materials.  Since opening weekend is less about quality and more about marketing, one cannot fault Shyamalan for the $27.5 million debut weekend since he wasn’t actually used to market the picture.  Now looking at his past opening weekends, I still question Sony’s wisdom of hiding his name, since everything save Lady In the Water has opened at what would respectively be considered a healthy debut weekend.

Out of eight mainstream studio releases since 1999, seven of them have been solid hits, with two outright smashes and at least three qualifying as rock-solid financial winners. The Last Airbender is objectively a box office hit but arguably counts as a miss because its poor quality killed a promising franchise. But his only pure flop (Lady in the Water) was also his least commercial enterprise, and a film that pretty much all-but film nerds have forgotten about over the last seven years.   So we have a director who by this point in time arguably *should* be considered box office poison but isn’t because his films keep making money in spite of themselves.

The Village and The Happening may have been considered ‘bad’, but to most general audiences they were merely a mediocre movie-going experience never to be mentioned again (save for mocking the whole Mark Wahlberg talks to plants thing).  And they both opened above expectations purely on Shyamalan’s name.  The Last Airbender is a terrible film, but A) it made money and B) the parents who took their kids to the PG-rated adventure only cared that their kids had a good time.  His good films were hits and most of his bad films were mostly hits too.  Artistic disappointment, sure.  But box office poison he is not.

After Earth may be a flop, but it’s tough to argue that hiding the one unique element, a director who is a known entity to general audiences and whose films generally make money and open well, was a good idea.  For most moviegoers, M. Night Shyamalan is still the guy who made The Sixth Sense and Signs.  That’s not necessarily a good thing for him artistically, as we must take stock in the fact that he hasn’t made a great movie in eleven years, but it’s been his commercial shield for nearly a decade. And it’s why Sony made a mistake not using his marquee value as they promoted After Earth in America last weekend.

With all that said. #8 may have something to do with M Night….

#9 The Prestige

Top 10’s – FAVORITE FILMS

#9 – The Prestige – Christopher Nolan, 2006

More than magic, revenge, science, or romantic intrigue, Christopher Nolan’s “The Prestige” is a film about duality. It is about the doubles, twins, copies, clones, role-players, brothers, rivals, and partners that lurk both externally in the world and internally within individuals’ souls and psyches. The film is about the two opposing sides of the coin and the obsessive wars raged between those opposing sides – both when the sides compete against one another on life’s multiple stages over career and fame, and when the sides compete most personally inside one’s self over regrets and decisions poorly made.

The narrative of “The Prestige” is nonlinear and provocative, pulling the audience along on the coiling journeys of the film’s two protagonists. Its secrets are revealed slowly, and its momentum builds at a measured pace. In concert with the film’s visuals, the story is hypnotic and completely engrossing. The cast here, the likes of which is a rarely witnessed, excitingly assembled and never-ending source of aligned-stars amazement, deftly carries the tale. Jackman, Bale, Caine, Serkis, Johansson, Bowie, and Hall are the ideal conduits for the story.

The results of all of this is breathtaking. Nolan’s film scores triumphantly across all technical and artistic levels, and “The Prestige” is as rewarding on the second, third, or tenth viewing as it is on its first. While some decry the film as offering cheap tricks and narrative illusions, it may be this segment of the audience that is simply not be watching closely.

Two passionate magicians, Robert Angier and Alfred Borden, are having massive success with their brilliant illusions. But when one of their magic shows goes horribly wrong, the two turn against each other, plotting and out witting the other person. It becomes an obsession, and consequences occur.

The Prestige is simply thrilling. Fast paced, mesmerizing, and doesn’t feel even a bit long- despite the over 2 hour run time- The Prestige has you hooked from the very first shot. The plot is so intricate, weaving together 3 different times in the two magician’s lives. This is at first overwhelming, but the picture grows clearer and clearer, but it doesn’t make things any less unpredictable.

The tone of the film is dark, and indeed, there isn’t a true protagonist. There are main characters- in the form of the two magicians- but they both seem morally incorrect. In a way, this might suggest that one doesn’t connect to either one in sympathies or emotion, and yet, one feels for both. Both seem in the wrong- and deciding which one is more at fault may simply come down to a “he started it” conclusion- but at the same time, they are both characters we sort of root for. We never really choose one fully over the other, as their is still an emotional anchor for each (but to keep spoilers out of this review, I won’t discuss this element further).

Everything about this film is so smart, and so well done. The characters are flawlessly developed, and the story is original, unique, and gripping. I’ve already said plenty about the twists of course, and the intricacies with the interwoven stories. I’m shocked and appalled that this film did not receive so much as a nomination from the Academy for editing, as it is so skilled and precise. I’m not the kind that pays attention to the editing, but in a film like this, it’s crucial- far more so than most action films.

The Prestige is personally everything I ever need from a film. It follows its own rules. Has a original story and most importantly it demands attention. The Prestige is a roller-coaster of a ride with intriguingly intertwined subplots and masterful time switching, which makes it one of a kind and an ultimate masterpiece. The uncanny feat of Christopher Nolan to manifest a motion picture, which forays the realms of Mystery, Thrill, Sci-fi and Fantasy, is truly exemplary and makes the movie a contemporary classic. The movie is a tapestry of twists and turns, which evinces its overwhelming potential to bewitch the masses and gratify even the most obscure viewers. The questions that it continually asks of the viewers can only be answered after repetitive viewings, with each viewing seeking utmost attention of the viewer. The only question that I would ask of the viewer is: “Are you watching closely? ”

Masterfully deceptive, and deviously assembled. The Prestige succeeds as a mystery, a drama, a thriller, and a mind-bender, while placing heavy focus on the characters themselves. Just one bit of advice- a caution if you will: Don’t over think it, just absorb it all. Pay attention, and you will be greatly rewarded.

#10 Manhattan

Top 10’s – FAVORITE FILMS

#10 – MANHATTAN – WOODY ALLEN, 1979

In “Manhattan,” Woody Allen’s New York is a world brimming with artists, poets, musicians, writers, intellectuals and psychoanalyst. It’s an oasis of art galleries, museums, books and neurosis. Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue” fills the air as Gordon Willis’ superb black and white photography paints a majestic world of urban beauty. The black and white images instill a sense of character with every image we see. The city itself is the main character in this film with everyone else in a supporting role.   John Baxter in his excellent biography on Woody states accurately, “While the opening montage recalls the unblinking succession of images with which Antonioni closed L’Eclisse in 1962, Allen’s use of the city as a character exactly parallel’s Fellini’s treatment of Rome in La Dolce Vita.” Baxter also notes other similarities including the ending “in which Marcello Mastroianni tries to talk to the girl on the beach, only to find they can’t communicate.” This easily parallels Isaac’s attempt to mend his relationship with Tracy just as she is leaving for London.

It’s one of Woody’s best written scripts, co-written by Marshall Brinkman, this was the third film they wrote together and the last time until they made “Manhattan Murder Mystery” in 1993. After “Interiors,” Woody promised his backers he would make a funny film…like his earlier works. “Manhattan” is not quite that, it’s more a comedy/drama than a flat out comedy like “Bananas” or “Sleeper.” This is a film about relationships, broken relationships, lost relationships. The film centers on Isaac Davis (Wood Allen), a 43 year old TV writer attempting to write his first serious novel. Isaac is having an affair with a seventeen year old high school girl named Tracy (Mariel Hemingway). Isaac’s best friend, Yale (Michael Murphy), a college professor, though married to Emily,  is having an affair with Mary Wilke (Diane Keaton) a neurotic writer who is currently reviewing Tolstoy for an intelligencia magazine as well as writing novelizations of movies on the side. The tale takes a turn when Yale decides to break off his affair with Mary in hopes of saving his marriage. Isaac, with Yale’s knowledge, begins dating Mary, discarding the impressionable young Tracy who is heartbroken. A subplot involves Isaac’s problems with his caustic ex-wife Jill (Meryl Streep) who left him for a woman, taking their son, and is now writing her own book, “Marriage, Divorce and Selfhood,” a tell all about their life which Isaac fears will expose his sexual idiosyncrasies, a fear she does nothing to deny. A final twist occurs when Yale realizes he wants Mary back, abandoning his wife. Isaac, now alone tries in vain to win back Tracy who is leaving for London that same day.

I had not seen “Manhattan” in many years until I watched it again recently, yet I always considered it one of my favorite Woody Allen films. Other favorites, I have always watched over and over again, “Annie Hall,” “Manhattan Murder Mystery” and “Broadway Danny Rose” and more recently “Match Point” to name a few, yet I always skipped over this one. A fear began to build up that maybe, just maybe, the film could not live up to my memories, so I continued not watch it preferring to savor those precious memories and not be disappointed.  Well, my fears were happily unjustified, “Manhattan” is an exceptionally multifaceted film, smoothly transitioning between comedy, romance and drama like an exceptional multi course meal at an expensive restaurant.

Isaac is surrounded by people with broken relationships, his ex-wife Jill, Yale his best friend whose having an affair with Mary who had split up with her best sexual partner ever, Wallace Shawn in a hilarious bit appearance. With Tracy, Isaac has a chance at true love, if it is even possible between a 43 year old man and a 17 year old girl. Isaac is the only character, other than Tracy, in the film who believes in monogamy which he expresses when he tells Yale, “I believe people should mate for life, like pigeons and Catholics.” Tracy cares for Isaac deeply, and though she is younger than everyone else she possesses an innocent kind of maturity, and maturity of any kind is something Isaac lacks.  His fatal flaw was not seeing Tracy as special or treating their relationship seriously which comes back to haunt him later when he finally realizes that despite their age difference, he might have blown he one chance at true love.

The film’s real love story, the true romance though is the one between Woody and his town, Manhattan. The opening montage of black and white shots are love letters to the one consistent lover in his life photographed on a canvas so lustrous as to make the entire borough look like one of the great wonders of the world. The entire film is one big love affair with the characters visiting one iconic New York location after another; row boating in Central Park, shopping at Zabar’s, the Guggenheim Museum, the 59th Street Bridge and on and on all to the melodic beauty of Gershwin’s “But Not For Me,” “I’ve Got a Crush on You” and “Someone to Watch Over Me.”

The cast consist of one fine performance after another by Michael Murphy, Meryl Streep and Anne Byrne.  Highlights though belong to Diane Keaton and Mariel Hemingway both who give inspired performances. A word about Woody, he is always accused of playing the same character and to an extent that is true, the mannerisms and nerdiness are always there. However, in the final scene of the film between Woody and Hemingway there is a underlying depth to his character, a restrained realization; he knows he missed his opportunity at true love yet he is desperately, selfishly, attempts to hold on to a time that has passed. Woody does this without any overly histrionic behavior, it low key and a thing of beauty.

No one can question Woody Allen’s status as one of America’s premier film directors, and anyone well-versed with his works should not hesitate before nominating ‘Manhattan’ as his finest film. This movie is a masterpiece; visually and intellectually shot in a stylistic black and white widescreen format, the cinematography of ‘Manhattan’ is breathtaking,

The heartfelt angst and bittersweet hopelessness of the characters are uncamouflaged even by the sleek cinematographic style of the movie. This movie is Woody Allen’s valentine to the city he has such a symbiotic relationship with. Speaking of relationships; that’s what we were really dealing with here. Who hasn’t been through some tough times with the opposite sex, that lead to a bitter yet hopeful end for at least one of the parties involved.

But as a wise person once told me: “endings are what matters” and the ending of this film is as sweet and realistic as it could get, people who lied to themselves reveal their true feeling. Tracy’s concluding lines confirm “the brain is the most overrated organ”, and how ironic that it comes from Woody Allen, in what remains his greatest film, so intelligent, but most importantly, sweet.

future countdowns

I am big fan of lists. Whether it be everyday to do lists, or countdowns. Something about arranging things in an orderly manner has a comfy feeling to me. Any hows, from time to time I like to do countdowns. So it’s only proper for me to usher those onto this blog. My first countdown will be films. A big disclaimer for me to get out there:  these are 100% opinionated lists. Completely created and maneuvered from a personal stand point.

Now that thats out there, stay tuned for my  #10 favorite film.

Picking Pasta

My nonni had a way of making people feel important. In many ways, a special gift she possessed. As a young boy, I remember thinking she was the sole person who actually listened to me. When your young that means a bunch, especially if your looking for a lending ear. When you grow and begin maturing, it means substantially more. She taught me and in many ways still is, that listening is vastly more important than talking. While my famous sunday evening memories are engulfed with very talkative conversation, the most fluid and influential are unsurprisingly calm and quiet vignettes that stand the test of time.

7PM was the appointed meeting time at nonni’s home. Every Sunday, all year. Two other very special people came, and we formed in many ways a bond that will never be broken. A past memory we were fortunate enough to be around for. If we were ignorant in the beginning to just how special this time would be, it became more apparent as sundays went. The event gave me something to look forward to you. It gave me hope that in a rough week, nonni’s was around the corner. Once in a while I would “accidentally” arrive early. Not too early,  but a mere 20 or so minutes prior to the next.  Those 20 minutes were simply me talking and nonni listening. She taught and told me without uttering a single syllable, listening is what matters.

It never failed, once the clock hit 7 and the three of us were assembled around the table, she would inevitably give the command. In a seemingly random order, one of us would be summoned to pick the pasta. Surely, a mundane action to anyone especially us, considering it happened every single Sunday. But to her, an important reminder for us that we were important. The command signified a pause in life. As soon as the order was given, it was ok to settle in. In many ways,  it was her saying sit down and relax. It was a subtle phrase that suddenly meant the world to me. Much like nonni’s, the emotion changed from mundane to admiration.

Conversations were picked and plucked from many different worlds at nonni’s table. Her participation varied and nearing the end of her life, she was reserved to just listening for the most part. I wouldn’t be so ignorant to think this wasn’t purposeful though. She was as much of the conversation quiet as she was vocal. She loved to just sit there and let us talk, mostly about subjects she had admittedly, absolute zero interest in. But even in the moment I assumed something deeper was happening.

It occurred to me after the fact that Nonni in many ways was an enabler. An enabler of this event for starts. It was in fact her who first invited us over, only to let us talk and converse about things she didn’t care about, yet endured the conversations. You see she didn’t care about the subjects of topic, or type of pasta we picked or anything for that matter. All she truly cared about was that we were there. And she did everything in her humble ways to make us feel welcome and significant. From varying bowl sizes according to appropriately sized eaters, to simply just listening about things she didn’t necessarily care about but knew we did. She was all about us, all of time.

I think nonni’s impact was so influential on me simply because she never flaunted her motives. She never needed credit for doing anything and she certainly wasn’t looking for it.  She was more invested in spending time with us, then projecting life lessons. But the beautiful revelation of Sundays at nonni’s, came to me after the fact. Like a great painting, being too close to something blurs the intended meaning. Nonni’s was always about life lessons and they were so effective because they were genuinely distributed.

You see Nonni always wanted to make one of us feel special, she always gave us all the time we needed. To talk amongst each other or simply listen to us individually, unconditionally. Not impending judgement, just lending an ear with input if we so desired.  She taught me, there’s a place for that in life. There’s a place called meekness that lives only when you realize a direct way to someones life is through their heart, not their head. Something Nonni did so well, just listen and invest in those you love. A great life lesson she distributed to me. Something I am forever grateful for and an area I continually try to improve in.

Towards the end of nonni’s life I came to find out something very interesting. It turned out, nonni always knew who’s turn it was to pick the pasta. As weeks went by, she kept a record of it. It wasn’t a guess on her part. It was important to her; remembering the little details about loved ones in her life. But I cant help but wonder that she knew, one day we would understand and comprehend. Understand her quietness around the table.  Comprehend that listening is the best gift you can give someone. I cant help but think she knew as we grew older, that the purpose for coming to Nonni’s wasn’t at all to keep her company as we all thought. But for us to learn. Learn how to one day, let someone else pick the pasta.

WWDC eve

Tomorrow is an exciting day.

For those who aren’t tech enthusiasts, tomorrow may not bring much to mind. But for those who are, June 10th marks the first time Apple officially takes the stage in 2013. Crazy to consider we are 6 full months into the year absent of Apple’s official presence. Those who aren’t into tech are probably asking what the big deal is? More importantly; what is going to happen? The amazing answer, us who admire tech can’t even tell you. But we know Apple’s track record enough to know, the possibilities are exciting.

Basically to cut through all the rumors and what not, you can bet on two major things.  Firstly, A brand spankin new fresh coat of paint for iOS 7. (the pixels moving on your iPhone’s screen for those who are interested). Secondly, a software bump of OSX (likewise for your mac computers). If you haven’t caught on yet, in recent years this conference has been a software gathering. And while a few rumors still linger in the wind, all signs point in this direction this year as well.

So no. No new iPhone’s, no new iPad mini’s. No iWatch or whatever you call it. To the uninterested, a boring event. To those who’s ears are consistently to the ground of the tech world, a major moment. You ask why? Very simply stated, Apple leads the technology push. Companies watch them. Even so much as steal their idea’s and claim to call them their own. Apple has led the tech industry in many areas in the past recent years and even invented new categories. So my friends, when Apple calls a meeting, it would be wise to attend.

New themes, textured gradience, flat designs or glossy icons. Whatever design direction Apple may head in, rest assured the industry will stand and look. Maybe not copy at this point in the game, but certainly take notice. Jony Ive in, Scott Forstall out is probably all we really need to know regarding design aesthetics and the future of Apple’s software direction. Jony Ive is a master of minimalistic designing and a the sole heart behind Apple’s hardware aesthetics. So it’s certainly not too much a of a stretch to consider him taking those principals over to the software side of things. A welcome addition.

A word of opinion briefly. Personally, I don’t mind iOS and how far it has come since 2007. To me it’s insane to comprehend indeed iOS is the oldest mobile platform on the planet! With Blackberry revamping things earlier this year, Apple’s iOS has moved in the top spot for oldest on the block. With that said, I think it’s a certainly capable entity that has harbored great stuff up to this point. But thats the key phrase “up until this point”.  Tomorrow is such an important day because it’s when Apple ushers in the future of their biggest platform. The product that shakes the most user’s hands then any other product in Apple’s pipeline. Apple cant afford to get this wrong, and in my opinion the reason Apple is what it is today is because of moments just like this. Moments where they don’t lay up. They don’t get comfortable. They work hard, push the industry and most importantly for us end users, push the competition.

Whatever tomorrow brings, i’m sure it will be exciting nonetheless. Pondering over my post, it just hit me that keeping expectations grounded and realistic is considerably the most important element of the waiting game. But that’s not to say Apple wont surprise and impress tomorrow. They’ve done it in the past. One thing is as sure as day though. Tomorrow we will be watching, as well as the entire industry.

Your move Apple.

One last thing: i just realized This post didn’t mention Steve Jobs once. Indeed Apple is moving on, indeed.

the real meaning of M. Night Shyamalan’s “Lady in the Water”

In light of M. Night Shyamalan‘s new film being released this past weekend, After Earth. I thought it would be right of me to share with the world (or a few faithful readers) one of the best movie analysis i’ve ever had the privilege of reading, The following was written thoughtfully and thoroughly by my cousin, Mike. All credit should be directed his way! This is a fantastic read, enjoy:

Shyamalan warned his audience to keep an open mind while watching this movie. He released a “children’s book” to help establish the fantasy before the movie came out. But the complexities of its meaning are hidden behind its “fairy tale” facade. And like all fairy tales, the depth of this masterpiece extends well beyond the simplicity at its surface. If you have the interest, the endurance, AND YOU HAVE ALREADY SEEN THIS FILM, please read on.

This is a story of one man’s struggle to regain his faith and sense of purpose by overcoming emotional detachment and repression in the aftermath of an unfathomable tragedy.First, consider the name of the apartment complex – “The Cove”. A cove is a harbor along a body of running water, a sheltered inlet, like a driveway on a busy street. It is a place of seclusion, perhaps even a place to hide. The complex itself is U-shaped, and has a pool at its center. We can imagine that beyond the pool is the reality of the outside world, the “mainstream” of life. It is unknown, and something to be feared. Night has never made a movie that is so contained, so confined to a single location. The story takes place entirely within the Cove.Now imagine that the Cove is not a physical location at all, but a world that exists only in one man’s mind; and it is completely dependent upon and manipulated by his own psyche. People have commented on how the film’s location lacks detail, that it is too simple, nondescript, childish, and unrealistic.

This is not a flaw – this is by design. Cleveland Heep is its superintendent – its caretaker – its “healer”. And if the Cove is a product of one man’s imagination, then its tenants must be as well. Cleveland has a casual familiarity with all of them. And they depend solely upon him for the mundane daily maintenance of their home – we never see his boss or any other employees. Moreover, the name “Heep” itself might reflect not only the great burden he carries, but also the great number of different “tenants” that comprise his psyche. *It is interesting to note that the British use the word “cove” as slang to mean “fellow” or “man”. Similarly, the word “Cleveland” has its roots in Old English, meaning “cliff land”, and the Clevelands were known as people from the cliffs. It is perhaps an allusion to both Cleveland’s isolation and an image of instability, danger, and urgency – “bearing a great burden, teetering on the edge of a cliff”.

In this sense, “The Lady in the Water” is arguably the most unique, imaginative, and ambitious tale of inner conflict and perseverance ever filmed. The struggle takes place within the secluded confines of an apartment complex, the tenants of which are, in this metaphorical sense, the separate, unique aspects of one man’s damaged psyche. And each of them has a singular purpose in this fairy tale of faith, hope, and self-awakening. It is “a bedtime story”, one of a particular type that we tell each other and ourselves before we sleep. These stories give us hope, comfort, and peace. We call them prayers.

The Cove is a close-knit community, and its tenants all seem to have lived there for some time. In fact, only two characters arrive during the movie’s timeline – Story, the mythical narf, and Harry Farber, the movie critic (presumably named after legendary film critic, Manny Farber). And it is no coincidence that they show up at the same time – they are the dueling personifications of Cleveland’s consuming inner conflict.

Story represents Cleveland’s fractured and fragile faith in himself, in mankind, and in God. She is the hope for, and promise of, the belief in the unknown. Farber, by contrast, is the skeptic in Cleveland. His character is not simply a dig at Night’s movie critics. He is the oppressive influence which closes Cleveland’s mind and forces him to see within “the rules”, to accept that there is no originality left in the world, and nothing left to hope for. He defines the rules of Cleveland’s perception. Farber’s simultaneous arrival represents the saboteur in Cleveland’s mind. He is the embodiment of Cleveland’s debilitating doubt, generated to counter the arrival of Story – his savior, the inspiration for his burgeoning faith and redemption of purpose, presumably sent by God. While Story is the image of childlike purity and endless possibility, Farber is the closed, tamed mind of the adult, limited in imagination, and numbed by the sicknesses of society. These are the main figures in the conflict between doubt-skepticism and hope-faith. Note that Farber “must be very good” at his job in order to have been sent to this place from so far away. He is an appropriate counterpart to Story, who turns out to be of the highest and presumably most powerful status of her kind – a “Madam Narf”. He is no ordinary critic, she is no ordinary narf. And it is fitting, as both Cleveland’s tragedy and his purpose are extraordinary.

The Cove’s pool is a metaphor for a man’s heart, once again incorporating Night’s connection of purity and innocence with water. Cleveland initially senses Story’s presence in flashes – fleeting glimpses and the occasional sounds of splashing from the pool at night. Perhaps he has just enough faith left to recognize it when it is revealed. And he finds it in the pool, as one might find faith in the heart. She arrives naked, not only a reflection of the vulnerability of the fragile faith she represents, but a vision of the freedom and innocence that accompanies the purity of childlike inhibition. Far from able to embrace his faith, Cleveland is discomforted by her nakedness and gives her a shirt. His journal reveals to her the deep sorrow that presumably has led him to this place, and kept him lost from a life of fulfillment as a medical doctor. She reminds him that everyone has a purpose (a profound statement in the context of this story and its location). But watching Cleveland plead with Story to keep his secret from the tenants of the Cove, we witness the active repression of his pain and his debilitating inability to cope with the loss of his family. He cannot allow the separate aspects of his personality (the tenants) to experience the tragedy. Moreover, his crippling stutter (absent in her presence) is symptomatic of what appears to be Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Unable to experience the inspiration, the “awakening” of her presence, he decides to help her complete her task and protect her from the “scrunt” sent to kill her.

Cleveland is guided throughout by the character of Young-Soon, whose mother knows the ancient story behind this narf. Young-Soon is the child aspect of Cleveland’s mind that is willing to believe in fairy tales. Consider that as she translates the story to Cleveland from her mother, the two characters hear the story together for the first time. At one point, she even expresses a hope that the story is true. Her immaturity, her recurring childish exit line “bye, Mr. Heep”, and even her name suggest that she is a child (despite her noteworthy height), and thus more amenable to the tales of magic and fantasy that are normally dismissed by adults. Her mother is uncomfortable translating the story in its entirety until Cleveland presents himself to her as a child. But if she is part of the Cove, then so must be the story itself – perhaps heard long ago and buried in the subconscious, perhaps a complete fabrication, or possibly parts of both. It’s not surprising if you can accept that the Cove exists in the mind of a writer. Mrs. Choi is the elderly Korean woman from within the Cove (or invented by it) who becomes the source of this fairy tale. The adult psyche finds it easier to impede the conveyance of the unbelievable story by creating it in a foreign language and from the representation of a respected but unfamiliar source – the perception of a wise and holistic people unbound by Western convention.

The “scrunt” is the manifestation of the ills and evils of society, and the horrors of which man is capable, within Cleveland’s psyche. It is a monstrous form of the fear and anxiety that has denied Cleveland his ability to right his life since his crisis. It preys upon Story. It comes from outside the Cove, from the unknown reality beyond the pool, and it only fears the Tartutic. The Tartutic are the “justice” for which Cleveland cries out when the scrunt attacks Story on the night she should be allowed to leave freely. They might more accurately be thought of as “fate”, or as that which protects the course of predestination. They are the “should”.

The one man who can control the scrunt is the “Guardian”. Cleveland’s search for the guardian is the search for that part of himself that is able to face his fear, to “look it in the eye”. When he misidentifies this figure as himself and confronts the scrunt, it attacks him. But only the two new arrivals, Story and Farber, appear vulnerable to physical harm by the scrunt. It’s danger to Cleveland’s own character is not actual “death”, but the threat of the reinforcement of his fear and, consequently, his psychological dysfunction. Consider that when Cleveland is about to be attacked by the scrunt, he suddenly awakens (physically unharmed) with Farber standing above him, expressing his displeasure with some movie he has just seen, and arguing against the symbolic purity of water. Also consider that he is standing between Cleveland and the pool at the time, actualizing a metaphor of a man being denied the purity of his heart by his own skepticism and doubt. Cleveland actually credits Farber for having saved him from the scrunt. But Farber was not the savior – he was the trauma, the damage itself – the stifling of Cleveland’s belief, and the reinforcement of his doubt and inability to face his fear once again. It is a powerful crystallization of how Cleveland’s mind works against him.

Vick Ran (Shyamalan, himself), is “the writer inspired by the Story”. His first words to Cleveland – “The light over my desk is still broken.” You can’t write without light, and it’s something Cleveland has been putting off. But a light is not a difficult fix, and Vick does not seem to be in a rush to finish his book. Cleveland sees the book by chance while repairing the light, and initially dismisses its content after observing its title, “The Cookbook”. But he is soon reminded to never judge a book by its cover (how very appropriate).

Vick’s character is at least as important as Cleveland’s. The prediction of his future describes how his book will have a profound philosophical influence on the world, and how this socio-ideological impact would result in his own death. Vick draws an indirect comparison to Martin Luther King within the story itself; and we are reminded of other figures such as Christ, and of other doctrines, or “cookbooks”, such as the Bible. Vick represents the “purpose” that Story assures Cleveland he has not lost. He is the part of Cleveland’s psyche that is capable of accomplishing great things. Such endeavors, however, expose the psyche to harsh and potentially stifling criticism – the “murder” of the creative mind – something of which Night himself has faced, and continues to face, far too much.

Whether writing “The Cookbook” is the literal greatness, or purpose, of which Cleveland is capable, and whether the death of Vick Ran is the literal death of Cleveland Heep, is for the viewer to determine. But it is a reasonable conclusion, if you extend Cleveland’s role as the “healer” to meaning the “healer of mankind”. In this scenario, perhaps the pain of the tragedy he experienced would be the catalyst and inspiration for this doctor to attempt to change the world by writing a book. Conversely, it is conceivable that Vick Ran – the “writer”, the “purpose” – is the true subject of this story. He is the “vessel” of Story’s inspiration, and the only part of himself that Cleveland can correctly identify before being influenced by the skeptical, closed-minded Farber. He shares Cleveland’s sad and quiet demeanor, his self-effacement – “I’m nothing special”. He is single (as are just about all of the main players as far as we are aware), but cannot easily care for himself, to cook or clean, and relies on his sister in this domestic capacity. Of course, he would be unaware that he has ever had a wife or children, as would all but two of the other tenants in the Cove, since that information has been repressed, hidden within Cleveland’s “journal”. Cleveland Heep, the “healer”, may not actually be the man behind the psyche represented by the Cove, but only that part of the whole that is responsible for its healing. In this case, Cleveland’s task is to heal himself, Vick Ran – the healer of mankind. Therefore, Cleveland’s inability to satisfy this obligation until he, himself – “the healer”, is healed is the true meaning behind this story.

In his search for the remaining cast that is necessary for Story to return to the “Blue World” Cleveland seeks the advice of Farber, the man he erroneously identifies as “the person whose opinion he respects”. This path ultimately culminates in a party (a celebration of Farber’s arrival, no doubt!). And it is during what is, in essence, this celebration of skepticism and closed-mindedness that Story (Cleveland’s faith) is dragged off and nearly killed. The series of misidentifications illustrates not only Cleveland’s detachment – his inability to know himself, but also the destructive process of another symptom of Cleveland’s disturbed psyche – self-sabotage. So it is no coincidence that Cleveland cannot complete this task and accept that he is the “healer” (of Story, his faith) until Farber (his skepticism) is killed by the scrunt.

“The Guardian” turns out to be Reggie, who wears the dog tags of a soldier. He is a normal man that is not consumed with, but only partially occupied by, a need for physical strength. After all, Reggie’s true power is ultimately not physical. Reggie is a representation of both Cleveland’s strength and lack of strength. His intentionally one-sided muscular development not only suggests Cleveland’s inability to utilize (or even identify) his inner strength, but also indicates a systematic, “scientific” maintenance of an emotional imbalance and instability.

“The Interpreter” is originally thought to be Mr. Dury because of his proficiency with crossword puzzles. In actuality, the interpreter is his son, Joey. The selection emphasizes the ability of children to see things with a clarity and simplicity that becomes lost for adults as they become limited by social paradigms and restrictions. In fact, Mr. Dury at one point admits that his ability with puzzles and symbolism is limited to his crosswords. The loss of this childhood ability is poignantly illustrated by this father-son disparity – it is Mr. Dury that realizes that his son (presumably the child version of himself – “I’m gonna be just like my dad”) is the real interpreter. The idea denotes the endurance of important childlike notions in Cleveland’s psyche. It also refers to a psychological healing process that addresses the significance of childhood perceptions, and the subsequent development of emotions and coping strategies during childhood.

“Someone whose opinion Cleveland values” turns out to be the shut-in, Mr. Leeds. He is the only tenant who knows of Cleveland’s tragedy (the only other part of his psyche from which it has not been completely repressed). Mr. Leeds “has been here forever”. He sits in a dark room, surrounded by books, staring at images of war on television. His role is somewhat paternal – he refers to Cleveland as “son” (“don’t become what I have”), and encourages him to “not give up”. He somehow sees everything that’s going on around him in the Cove. He is Cleveland’s conscience, his conviction – what some would consider to be functions of “the Soul”. He is the inner voice, the moral compass that guides him. Even his name is significant. But he is the part of the Cove that has been most affected by the sins of mankind and the toxicity of society – “I wanted to believe more than anyone”. In what is essentially inner dialogue, he questions aloud whether man should be saved – and Cleveland answers that he should be. In this moment, Cleveland expresses a desire to live – to be healed, and to rebuild the trust to reattach himself with society.

The “someone with no secrets” is Mr. Bubchik, the man who is unaware that his wife reveals his secrets. He represents the undeniable reality of Cleveland’s weakness, his shortcomings, and his mortality. This candidness promotes a sense of honesty and comfort, a willingness to accept oneself despite one’s flaws. Mr. Bubchik represents that which Cleveland has no choice but to accept. And he provides Cleveland the opportunity to relieve himself of the guilt that has accompanied the burden of his secret. He cannot forgive himself for that over which he had no control – the inability to save his family – unless he is able to openly share it with himself.

“The Guild” consists of seven women, a group formed to protect a common interest. The number seven is prominent in religion and mythology – “The Seven Divine Women” (in Khasi mythology), “The Seven Sleeping Men” (in Christian mythology), “The Seven Mothers” (in Hindu mythology), “The Seven Virtues”, “The Seven Sacraments”, and so forth. And a group of women is a representation of Cleveland’s burgeoning sense of self worth – the empowerment of that which is generally perceived to be weak and undervalued (this is particularly true in many traditional Hispanic cultures which are known to be excessively misogynistic). The first scene of the movie (a clever foreshadowing) shows Cleveland trying to kill a “big, hairy” bug under the sink of a Hispanic family’s apartment. In the background, we see the family’s daughters brandishing makeshift weapons and squealing in fear of the bug. They make up five of the Guild’s sisters. The others include Anna Ran, Vick’s sister (who acts more as a wife or mother to him at times), and Young-Soon, who makes an early reference to her sister who married a dentist, and who is invaluable in guiding Cleveland along his journey of self-awakening. The Guild assists Cleveland through their “laying on of hands” in the climactic scene involving Story’s healing and his own catharsis. The image illustrates Cleveland’s need for emotional attachment (more typically associated with women and prohibited for men in Western culture) in order to connect with what he has repressed. Conversely, these women who provide emotional aid in this scene are armed and readily patrolling the pool’s perimeter in the next. It’s a testament to the power of women to both heal and protect.

The group gathers together to “bring strength to the moment” of Story’s (and Cleveland’s) healing and liberation. It is only then that he is able to reach catharsis. He reveals his tragedy to all aspects of himself, and releases the repressed pain and guilt that have kept him isolated in the Cove. It is at this moment that he is able to heal and embrace his hope and faith once again, leaving it safe and appropriate for the angelic Story to return to the Blue World on the wings of the Great Eatlon. Presumably, God’s angel has fulfilled her task to save a man – indeed, all of mankind (she is the Madam Narf) – and returned to heaven.

Shyamalan has called this his most personal film – an especially significant statement, considering how personal all of his stories have been. In fact, he has referred to them as his “children”. Criticism of “The Village” stripped him of his credibility for his prior three great and well-received productions. So he cast himself as the writer whose inspiration by the Story helps him escape his doubt and heal his faith. Is “The Lady in the Water”, then, the “story” of his healing? Or is it the story that healed him? Or is it both?This man is portrayed by many as an egomaniac. Yet he has done perhaps the most humble thing imaginable – he’s created a story of amazing depth and value, but he has left it for the viewer to tie together. In this sense, he has created an incredible scenario in which the story is actually critical of the viewer. He writes stories that he would appreciate, and that a select group of the audience (however small) will appreciate. And he allows himself to be bashed for its simplicity and banality by those who can’t appreciate his effort, content that this inability is criticism enough of his critics. Think of this scenario in the context of this movie! It’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen in entertainment, and I only hope I’ve done it some justice.

Written by and all credit due to Mike.

Room 0925

In a world where people are cold, dark and harsh; I found love. I found warmth. Most importantly, I found innocence. I found all of these things in a little girl. The bravest, most robust human being couldn’t measure up to what this gentle angel was.

She died on Christmas Eve. I remember thinking nothing could be more suitable; a gift to God would be an understatement. I had the grandest pleasure of witnessing her final days. Seeing her strength and love for her family was foreign to me. I grew up an orphan, was lucky enough to find parents. But having parents is different than having someone you called a mother and a father. They did their 18 years of duty and please don’t get me wrong, I appreciated every inch of it. But this little girl had it different. There was genuine care and love. Not from her parents, but from her. It can almost be explained as if she was conducting an orchestra, no one fighting her, just playing along in unison. But it was clear she was the conductor.

Maybe this was all due to her condition. You see, I’m a janitor in a hospital. So my visions of this little girl are only similar to vignettes of my passing by. She had no hair, she should of looked weak, and she should have looked frail and pale. She didn’t. You have never seen someone more vibrant in your life.

She had leukemia. She was in her final stages. This was evident. What wasn’t evident was that she would teach me more in a week than I would learn my entire life. It took me a couple days to figure out something special was occurring in room 0925. Day after day I did my rounds, saw Doctors in and out of the room. Balloons and gifts engulfed her surroundings. But one gift changed my life. One gift.

Before I got to my rounds on her floor on day 5, she was gone. The room was grey and ordinary. Nothing special. Nothing vibrant. Nothing innocent. It made me think how quickly things can change. It made me sad that I never met her. I went in to mop and sanitize room 0925 on day 5 sad, but working here, you get used to people leaving. This was different. The happiness on that little girl’s face sparked my life with light. It didn’t seem fair that she was gone. It didn’t seem fair that we never spoke. But sometimes that’s how life is. It just leaves you with unanswered questions. Working in a hospital for a while, I should have known better. But the energy that little girl gave off was so rich and pure. It was a breath of fresh air I couldn’t resist.

Not all was lost. While cleaning her room I found something of significance. Something I would have passed by any other day, in any other room. A business card lay peacefully behind a chair. Sure enough the address was richly printed on the front.

My decision to go the address was a simple one. Up until the moment I first saw her, my entire life was idle without being conscious of it. I had to go to this address. Call it selfish, call it what you like.

When I arrived at the address, I was shocked it was a private home. I don’t really know what I was expecting, but there was a moment that happened to me in that driveway. I like to call it a moment of clarity. I guess when something special occurs in anyone’s life, theres always a pinch me moment. You always must take a step back from it. Let your feet hit the ground. I mean that’s life. That’s reality. So here it was. Do I let life put another stop sign in front of me to obey? Or do I leave my own path in the woods? I was too tired of stop signs.

The reason I am writing you isn’t because I put my car in reverse. I walked up those steps and knocked on that door. Each knock was a sound of optimism. I waited and waited, studied the door and waited more. There was no answer. For a moment that door seemed like my life. It stood as still as static. Waiting for something to occur was all too familiar in my life.

Ironically, the door was unlocked. Letting myself in was a simple enough choice. Pictures of the little girl surrounded the house. The environment was calm, dim and peaceful. Silence echoed and soothed the air. I was wondering where everyone was, there were so many cars in the driveway?

Suddenly, a knock on the door intruded my silence. I looked back quickly. I was in shock to see the little girl standing in the doorway. She smiled at me gently and continued to slowly walk up to me. I felt a urge of rush accompanied with infinite questions. How is she OK? Is she healthy? All these obvious questions seemed so irrelevant. So fake, compared to the reality of her footsteps.

She handed me a letter, it read as follows:

“This is a private letter to you. A letter from me to you. It’s not important who I am or Where I live. I could be your grandmother. I could be your son. I could live across the street or on the other side of the world. But maybe just maybe I caught you at a time in your life where the magic has left. Maybe you needed to hear about optimism and innocence. Maybe this letter was specifically written for you. On the other hand, maybe you have already written this letter to someone and have grown weary of life. Maybe you need to be encouraged. You need to believe that the world around you doesn’t define you. Maybe you just need to hear, no matter who you are, that life is beautiful. That life has treasures. That life has miracles. And most importantly, and so vital for you to understand, life is what you make it.“

I put the letter down and looked for her. It was no coincidence she was gone. She didn’t need to stay. Her purpose was fulfilled. Whatever it was, it was complete. I took one last look at the interior of that house. So calm, so peaceful. I exited softly and drove my car pondering what I just experienced.

The next day at the hospital, I started to notice a difference in myself. I was more open to people. More open to help, more available to talk, more apt to listen. I started valuing people instead of evaluating them. I started living life with my arms open. A change had struck. A real change.

Years have gone by, but not a day passed I didn’t put that letter in my pocket. I assume it’s only suitable that you know the truth. Today I am in a hospital, but not for work. My time isn’t long here. I lived a long life. Some good, some bad. But it seemed a unison belief my time was limited.

When the nurse asked me what instructions I had regarding my death. I only requested one thing. I handed her the letter and told her softly “read it and pass it to a stranger.” She smiled and accepted.

Movies & My Childhood

When i decided that starting a blog made sense in my life,  i had to configure what was worth writing about. After an almost endless internal thought process, my passions started to become clear. It’s funny how aspects of your life stay with you. Friends certainly don’t, relationships for the most part fall by the wayside. Few things have been with me my entire life. The love of movies is one of them.

Being a young boy i remember the impact of movies and how the “larger than life” feel was a powerful one. My parents got divorced when i was a weird age. Not quite old enough to drive myself to and from at my will and certainly not young enough to be oblivious to what was happening around me. To the best of my knowledge, i coped with their divorce in many ways, one of the largest being film.

There i was, a 12 year old going from house to house with my backpack full of movies. While i had many friends at this period in my life, none of them were making the to’s and fro’s to my parent’s separate worlds.  The love of film entered my life because a void needed to be filled. Picture a train going its normal speed but with no stops. Just a continuous ride. Thats how i felt. For whatever reason, movies gave me my stop. My train station if you will.

The films in that backpack started to become essential to me. No matter what my ever-changing life could throw, those films always were consistent in being present. Always there, always the same and to a 12 year old who’s life was always being altered, that was a big deal.

(While the titles changed sometimes randomly) the staples were always accounted for. Rear WindowRopeClose Encounters of the Third kind, Vertigo among others. The characters in these films became my closest friends. No matter what i was going through, no matter what changed, no matter who entered and exited; these characters remained. There is something to be said about people in your life. Your “real friends” people say, are the ones that stick close through thick and thin. By definition then, mine were people i never met. Although they obviously will never know the role they played in my life, thankfully they were there when i needed them most.

Thinking back on those days, the emotions and results alike, i honestly can’t picture that time without film. One of my favorite aspects of movies is how they can be so, so personal to someone and nothing more than a mere 2 hours wasted in another’s life. The point is they reach. In that time in my life, i needed some reaching and was eager to reach back.

Film has impacting me to the extent of making my own. The words “The Fiction” will always be very special to me. I remember writing The Fiction and just the pure act of really writing a movie felt so close to home for me. I felt comfortable and familiar. When the decision to film came about, surprisingly i was even more comfortable. I won’t prolong this post on The Fiction as i suppose future posts will call “The Fiction” home, but to not mention it in this body of words would have been a serious crime  Sam Spade certainly wouldn’t have allowed.

Done right or not, movies speak. We are all so different that movies align properly with whom they choose. They do all of us justice or a disservice. They point something out in your life or simply remind you of a past memory. They make you appreciate or repress. While the final verdict of a film differs between us all, we can all agree on one thing; movies touch us in our own unique ways. I know they did for me. Much like the characters i befriended long ago, film will never know my love for it. But that doesn’t mean i’ll stop reaching. More importantly it means movies will never stop reaching back for me. And ill be there.