Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Movie Rehash- Next up: Gatsby



“It is invariably saddening to look through new eyes at things upon which you have expended your own powers of adjustment.”
- F. Scott Fitzgerald
Leonardo DiCaprio will have to go a long way to prove a worthy successor to Robert Redford when he and Baz Luhrmann take on a 3D re-telling of The Great Gatsby.
3D. Really? Will the audience be im-Myrtlized in death beneath Tom’s car, or will the sloshed champagne from Jay’s West Egg parties dampen our seats? Either way- does it NEED to? Aren’t Fitzgerald’s classic characters and timeless words enough?
Hollywood continues to attempt to improve upon- or capitalize on- successes of the past.  This month we’ve seen Arthur (the original is a mere 30 years old) re-made to mixed reviews, and a full slate of remakes are rumored to be in production, includingThe Crow and Footloose (both to the dismay of the diehards).  There have been recent re-inventions of The Karate Kid, Nightmare on Elm Street, Tron and Clash of the Titans, and even television series have not been spared, with the release of the A-Team movie (Dwight Shultz is the ONLY Howling Mad Murdock in my book) and the Miami Vice that left a Michael Mann-shaped hole in my heart.

My Horizon




It is key to understanding this entrapment- this sentence within the fleshy jail of mortality- to realize that we cannot change the bars or the walls, or the height from the floor of the small, solitary window in the corner. We cannot choose whether it is placed on the east or the west side, and so some of us are condemned to continually and gloomily watch the sun set, while others seem to be perpetually and cheerily greeting the morning.

My twilight view is reflected in the colors of my fancies: purple, blue, pink; dusky tones that evoke nostalgia, reflection, melancholy. My western window provides the backdrop for my solitary musings that overflow into these lines.

I have attempted to see the sunrise.  Awoken at preternatural hours within my soul to strain my eyes from the farthest angle of the cold sill, only to cause peripheral ache and weary darkness to send me, frustrated, back to bed.

And so acceptance comes. I decorate my cell with wildly drawn aspects; I deck the unbending casement with blousy linen, and I drink in the spectacle of the sinking solar sphere with greater and greater attention to its details.  I learn what its waning radiance has to teach, that I may perhaps mold the lessons into scraps of wisdom that offer comforts, however rudimentary, to the other inmates along my horizontal plane, and education to our neighbors on the eastern wing.

Sunset on this day’s dream. That I may dream a new one tomorrow.