Sitting here imagining, burgundy reds and rock candy threads reflecting, burdened by ideas that go nowhere, scattered thoughts not my own – I have plans made but much less confidence, so I write “I’ll succeed at anything today” and sigh. What is this doing in a blog about movie reviews? Hold on a minute, stuff is occurring to me. It’s the words that catch in midair, detoured by direct sunlight, sounds like insight instead of falling down quiet, maybe because it’s even guilty remembering, stuck on laughing hard lines away. This is about movie reviews and so much more. It’s about thinking that makes it –is– what it –is– instead of hillsides, in the way the whys make it all worth it in the end of reading it when it’s just easier to replace days for nights, boulders for cavern door dwellers, armchair gamblers and internet friends with far away faces in social make-believe places, gatherers missing the underlying signs of a hopeful romantic dying. OK, so maybe that part isn’t really about movies but keep reading. I’m getting there.
Convinced that a blueprint for diatribes in my mind has room to say more than I can, take up where space produces less anyway, make believing better than being there, I think about all the movies that have become the movies of my life, the long-long trailers going up bumpy hillsides with a hysterical red head performing the most amazing physical comedy in decades, or the bunch of people who have no business being out in the middle of gun fire much less spending holidays together in tents for laughs and tears and just enough sanity to get by. Then the hardest stories about the people who live just like you do from moment to moment with too much tragedy to ever speak the words out loud for fear they might actually be true, the marriages just ending and the ones about to begin all over again next to the children that shouldn’t be able to emote the way that they do when at that age you had a hard enough time getting to the school bus or your step father’s Chevy idling on the driveway that never ended chain-smoking Camels and slurping the hottest coffee you’ve ever seen in cold so cold you forgot what your nose felt like for months out of the year. And all the magic that makes movies your movies and your living and so I go over it once, try it again, twice then one last try before another movie gets away and I replace it with another one after that that’s better and worse and something. It’s like the get back at it folks who’ve never missed a payment or came up short but had it all along, the only lonely on the outside who require considerable more effort to get to where you’ve been all your life, up, shaking quiet and returning the circulation where it’s been cut off, lines and trying times, crippled instead of pretty labels for limbs that don’t feel sunrise – almost always – sigh. This part, no this part is all about the moving picture track of all our lives.
I try the give up plan, move on to other things chance without leaving first, like last time. But..
..this is where I find myself reflecting every day propagating, often at night, generally blue, where stuff happening between half doing and almost succeeding looks beautiful in movies in Philadelphia or stranded islands the exact distance of a soccer field only there aren’t any stripes in deserted. I see every movie the same way burning with possibility to be the next great one only to really believe inside I’m going to have to wait a little longer between the greatest movies of my life. So there I find the blue ink edges and torn paper stains burning words where pictures had just been and supposed to make sense but don’t, you know the way they won’t, can’t even do that instead of yelling from the safety of the hallway out of the theater when you’d take your money back if they offered it but are really glad they didn’t when you get to the car or half way home and it starts to warm inside, that little feeling of sensing the magic all over again of being there in the middle of all those people who don’t know your name in the dark as the movie sparks and places unfold where people do and don’t do the things you do but carry you, sometimes effortlessly into the void of so much beautiful possible celluloid. Or that other stuff they’re using these days. Ones and zeros? I’m prone to trying inside the same ink chains and scattered ideas that I have anything to add or subtract about the movies you want and don’t want to enliven your lives, but I go, tip toe, sit down all over again and just go lightly, formidably looking for a chance of rain to signal some other awards presentation for movies that move us and scare us and make us laugh because I just can’t not do it and write about it.
What does a blueprint for this diatribe look like? Maybe its words sliding, or give or take looking where no one is standing, not even for the you you started reading all this. Or maybe it’s all that and even more the next time movie time.