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March 29, 2011

everything is seen by it

It's been a bit busy around here, and that has put a cramp in my writing. The past four weeks have been one big catch-up for me, it feels. Let me tell you, two days of migraine yucko can really cause the grading to pile up. And after that, it just felt like I never could get a handle on things. Finally, though, last week I managed it. It feels good. haha And just in time, too, as my sister and brother-in-law acquired the perfect house, and there's all sorts of moving/painting/unpacking action going on. Nevertheless, I felt I should not let my blogging slide completely here, so I'm updating with a short film review. So here goes.

Last week I finally had the chance to watch a film I'd been wanting to watch for a very long time. A few years ago, I stood in the lobby of the theatre and watched the preview for Sunshine. I was fascinated for two reasons: Cillian Murphy, and the idea of a dramatic conflict in the isolation of space. I suppose I should offer a disclaimer here: I'm one of those people who think that 2001: A Space Odyssey is a beautiful and strangely fascinating movie despite and even because of it's fractured and broadly strung storyline. The previews for Sunshine tantalized me with images suggesting the same ethereal beauty permeating 2001. And, for me, the film delivered.

Sunshine is the story of an 8-man crew sent to restart the dying sun using a nuclear payload referred to as a star-bomb. It's the second such mission, the first having been lost without word seven years previously. The mysterious nature of this disappearance plagues the captain of the Icarus II. In the first segment of the movie, the pace is slow, introducing the characters mid-stream. This hooked me immediately. There is almost no backstory in this film. It is never explained in the film why the sun has begun to die, and die fairly quickly. There is little to tell us about how and why this group of scientists gathered for this mission. When you meet them, they are about to enter the region where solar flares will prohibit all communication with Earth until the return trip, well into their journey to the sun already. It makes for an interesting meeting. You enter their world after they've become comfortable with each other, with the journey, with being in space...right around the time when tensions are established, aggravated by the confines and the time in close quarters. This film is about the story, the goal of the astronauts, but it is deeply about these people.


There are many difficulties inherent to working with such a narrowly limited setting: your story must be compelling, you have limited means to introduce or manage conflict, you risk the entire thing seeming contrived and melodramatic. Sunshine essentially avoids the difficulties while harnessing the strengths: the increased awareness of detail, the heightened importance of individual decisions and actions, the deepened connection with the fates of the characters. In fact, there was only one point at which I felt my credibility slightly strained. The nature of the character involved and my intense connection with what was happening over-rode my sense of incredulity, however. The strain was a direct result of a character not connecting the dots he should have given the narrowly limited setting. That said, the conclusion the dots were leading to was one anyone would choose to avoid making until it was obvious there was nothing left to conclude. It is a forgivable stretch.

The only other weak point I found with the film was it’s nearness to the present day. The film asks us to believe in some quite advanced technological advances within the next 50 years. Well, 46 years now. Certainly they are possible advances, but, again, it does stretch believability a bit, especially with the first mission having occurred seven years previously. I found myself wondering about the probability of such a ship being built in less than 50 years. I wondered whether we would have the capability to create the payload intended to restart the dying sun. Perhaps someone more versed in the current state of those sciences today would have a better idea of their probably states in 50 years, but as a layman, I found myself feeling it was too much of a stretch to ask me to believe we will have advanced so far by 2057. At any rate, it wasn’t a thing that ruined the film for me in any way. I did wonder why a date farther off wasn’t chosen, but then the movie itself captured me.

The film does begin a bit slowly, but as the ship nears the sun, the plot advances in several well-timed moves, each one forcing the audience to invest a slight bit more in what’s happening. The plot progression and character response were, I felt, very natural. Each action felt innate to the character completing it. In all, I found myself rooting for the characters, for their goal, cheering on their well-being--not merely because the end-goal of this group of astronauts was saving humanity, but because I wanted these men and women to be successful. I wanted them to win for their own sake. This movie is a well-crafted piece of science fiction that reaches beyond the tropes of the genre into some very thought-provoking character interaction. I enjoyed every minute of it and most heartily recommend it to my readers.

March 10, 2011

on sorrowing as a group

Today, I went to a funeral. It was beautiful and exhausting. Later, I tweeted that I did not like funerals very much. Actually, that isn’t really true. I think funerals are a deeply important part of how we humans grieve. Yes, this may be a melancholy post, but this post is part of how I’m grieving.

When we think about funerals, regardless of our religious or philosophical thoughts, we tend to lean towards “dislike” on the scale between “like” and “dislike.” I think that response doesn’t accurately represent how funerals affect us or touch our humanly soul. Perhaps there was an inordinate amount of pondering this on my part on my way home from school. Perhaps. There is a reason behind, though. I almost wasn’t able to go to this funeral. There weren’t any substitutes to be had. The 8th grade is on their “See Louisiana or Bust” history/graduationy trip, so three teachers are already gone. Then, it seems, that not only were two other teacher out for various reasons, the substitutes were all out of town, at doctor’s appointments with their kids/dads, or just didn’t want to return my call. I had resigned myself to a solely individual path for taking leave of my friend. I knew it would add to my utter disappointment and loss, but I was out of options. But the principal came to my rescue. She stepped in and subbed for me. Because of this, I had the chance to consider an individual sorrowing in comparison to a group sorrow.

Really, it’s rather like the phenomena of seeing a comedy in a group. Certainly the movie or television show or play is funny to us when we watch it alone, but there is an added joy in sharing humor with others. You know what I mean. There’s a sense of community when 5 or 80 other people are laughing along with you. It’s a good thing. In a similar way, group sorrow is an aid and comfort to our grief. The Greeks seem to be the first to truly understand this in the creative arena. Greek tragic plays allowed for social catharsis, a social sharing of sorrow, albeit for created characters. Consider--the long-standing experience of sharing grief as the audience of a play reflects the real-life catharsis we experience grieving our friend of family member with others who loved them, too. As exhausting as it was to grieve, to acknowledge with others how much I will miss this amazing lady, it was cleansing. Like tears, shared grief is cathartic for us all, regardless of background, culture, creed or, history. So when I said that I didn’t like funerals earlier, it wasn’t really that at all. What I don’t like is losing loved ones. Sharing the reality of that loss with others who have lost--that’s community.

I know, it probably feels that on some level I’m intellectualizing sorrow and loss. Perhaps part of me is. But I’ve cried all the tears I can manage to cry today. I’ve sorrowed with the sorrowing. I’ve shared my loss at the Bible study table with ladies who care about my loss and sorrow. Words are the thing I have left. The place I need to go to take the next step of facing such sudden loss. Funerals can seem so macabre, so wallowing. But we need them. We need to share our loss and grief, or it can more easily stifle us, can consume us. It’s probably also a trifle self-indulgent to share my “revelations” about funerals with you all, but hey--it’s my blog. I can be a little self-indulgent if I want to. Right? :-)

I am going to miss Nancy. It seems that since her death on Saturday, it has hit me more and more how much. Yes, I firmly believe she’s better off now. I firmly believe we’ll meet again. (Yes, I also know that not everyone who reads this believes as I do and Nancy did about life after death. Please indulge me a bit, though, my friends, as for a rare moment, my spiritual beliefs must be included in a post.) And given the severity of the accident, it seems a mercy she’s gone on. But dammit, we needed her still. It’s so difficult sometimes to balance “I’ll meet you in the morning” with how much we love and miss someone. Nancy was such a joyful, giving lady. She could make me smile no matter how I felt that day. When I was going through a difficult time and couldn’t fulfill my responsibilities at Kids’ Club one week, she understood, she never asked questions, and she hugged me when she saw me next. I’ve never met someone so naturally filled with love for others, with a desire to serve and bless those in need, whoever they might be. I can’t tell you how much I’ll miss her enthusiasm, how much I’ll miss sitting next to her in choir in the summers, how much I’ll miss her heart. Nancy, I loved you so much. You were such an encouragement and inspiration to me. You made me step out and minister to others when I never would have without your sweet appeal. I am honored to have known you here. And I feel honored to have been a part of the community grieving your loss today. On the farther shore, my dear friend.