"You can't get what you want . . ."
Finish that lyric with the appropriate line--
a) "But you get what you need"
b) "Until you know what you want"
c) All of the above
If you chose c) all the above, you're incorrect (the answer is technically speaking b) ), but you're actually "more correct" in a greater, more global, psychological-lil'-ol'-me sense.
Short version? I went to see the Iranian film A Separation last night. I heard from yet another old boyfriend (that makes three since Valentine's). Yesterday was the 5th anniversary of my father's death.
Quite a little trifecta of angst, no?
Long version? Well, how much time do you have?
* * *
First, the movie, which was quite good. I don't know that I thought it was Oscar-winner worthy (Oscar-nominated worthy, most definitely), as I think our illustrious Academy of Motion Picture Sales and Special Effects tends to pick the safest Best Foreign Film every year. #MyOwnOpinion as the kids say on the Twitter. But my opinion and general sense of ridiculousness are what you visit here for, n'est-ce pas?
The movie works on a couple of levels--one being that it shows you a very different world from our own, in which women's fixed roles in society and the pervasiveness of religion, repression, and class affect people's judgments and abilities to act on their own, in their own best self-interest, and in the best interest of others.
Oh hahahaha, had you going there, didn't I!? I know, like, right? How is that any different that our own world? It seems to me to be just a matter of degrees and a few chadors added as part of the set design.
Seriously, it does show differences, how life might operate under a system where religion and the state have a significant role in every aspect of life. But it's really not that different. If anything, the issues at hand--the classic who's telling the truth, what is real and what is not--are universal. Everyone has a version of truth in the story, everyone has their prejudices and perceptions that affect their version of the truth. Their guilt, their needs, their shame, their frustrations. Peeling back the layers reveals even more layers and then finally . . .
As of this writing, A Separation has now been showing in Pittsburgh now for at least three weeks, testament to its appeal and universality I would like to think. If you get the chance, do go see it.
* * *
The story begins with a married couple, Nader and Simin, talking to a legal or religious "interrogator" (according to IMDB, that's the role) about a divorce. Simin wants to leave the country to find a better life for herself, her daughter, and her husband, Nader. Nader, on the other hand, feels he cannot leave the country because his father is infirm and needs constant, round-the-clock care and oversight.
Nader's father has Alzheimer's, which just so happens is the same affliction that befell my father and eventually took his life.
Upon realizing that, I almost left the movie theater. It was, after all, the fifth anniversary of my Dad's death, an event that even just a week earlier had me in tears while I was getting dressed for work. I just wasn't sure I could handle watching the movie in a public space. On the one hand, the movie struck too close to my heart; I wasn't sure I could watch the movie without being overcome with grief and emotion. On the other hand, if the movie got Alzheimer's wrong, dramatizing it for cinematic purposes rather than giving it a more reality-based portrayal, I would get angry and spend the time cursing under my breath at the actors on the screen.
As it turns out, Alzheimer's only played a role in the plot, not *the* role, serving as a catalyst for many of the events that take place. And the way the disease was portrayed seemed emotionally and factually accurate as well. Nader struggles with his job, his life, and his father's care-giving. The efforts to provide for his father's well-being strains and disrupts his life and his family. Simin, who in some ways seems heartless for leaving Nader at that moment, merely suffers from frustration and bad-timing; she clearly loves her husband and her father-in-law and is concerned for her family's well-being, taking great steps to assist and protect them.
In desperate need of assistance, Nader (with Simin's help) hires Razieh to provide care-giving to his father. She, like many of us in this situation, barely understands the problems and needs that Nader's father has. She tries to give him instructions that he clearly can't comprehend. Razieh's daughter Somayeh (perhaps the most adorable little child ever seen on screen) mistakenly lets Nader's father escape from the locked apartment and wander into the street. Nader's frustration grows with Razieh, his father's care-giving, and the complex, desperate situation.
I still found myself cursing under my breath at the screen. Well, not so much cursing, as barking out information. "He can't understand that!" "Watch the door!" "You need to speak slowly!" "What's the underlying need?" (this latter command in relation to why Nader's father kept trying to get out in the open and down the street to the news vendor). "Understand that, and he won't try to escape!"
Of course, it's easier to see all this from hindsight. In the middle of it, trust me, it's difficult to see much of anything, at least if you're a close, impatient relation of the person suffering. My own experience with my Dad during Alzheimer's was somewhat limited as I didn't live in the same city, state, or region as he did. I saw him on periodic visits home and witnessed a generally happy man but one whose mental and physical capacities were gradually in decline. I'll spare you the details, but it's important to note that Alzheimer's not only affects memories of people, places, and times; it eventually affects the remembrance of basic functions, such as walking, eating, and swallowing.
Trying not to take the former personally is a serious challenge. You want your father to remember you, to be the man you always knew him to be. The latter underscores the point that there's nothing personal about Alzheimer's. Stuff happens to people you love, and often it's completely out of everyone's control. It's not all about you. It's not all about me either.
* * *
The return of yet another old boyfriend warrants a post all its own. In fact, each and every one that has reappeared in some capacity in my life since February deserves some digital space and time from me. Eventually, eventually.
For now, it's all a bit too new, and I don't want to talk about it too much, at least until I've sorted things out a bit more in my head.
But let's just say it was something of a cosmic, world-shifting moment to hear from the Baron after many, many years. Five I think? No, more than that, maybe six or even seven. He called me up at work, having tracked me down through the wonder tool that is the internet. On the anniversary of my father's death.
And essentially the message was this: To ask my forgiveness for how things went down between us years ago.
I'm not a push-over these days. After an especially bumpy couple of years, emotionally and professionally, I have learned some hard, overdue lessons about life and about human nature. Since my Dad's death I have also become a somewhat quieter and more private person than before, not sharing myself too easily with others and finding it more difficult to make connections with people. I am a friend, a lover, a colleague, a brother, a son, and I serve in all those roles very well and genuinely. Nevertheless, only a few, only the trustworthy, get in too deep.
But since my Dad's death and other life events, and with the help of a good therapist, I have also somehow become a little lighter in spirit, freer to feel like myself and be that person in public, come hell or high water. I have learned to take life's setbacks and hardships less personally than before. It's not all about me, after all. Sometimes people are just shitty because that's what they do. It doesn't mean that I necessarily did something to bring that out in them and cause them to treat me shabbily. It doesn't even mean that's how they well and truly are. Maybe that's just them at that moment in time. Maybe they're not even being shitty; maybe they're just trying to live their lives, and somehow we end up on the wrong end of their behavior or our perception of their behavior.
Best to just let it go. It's not about you. It's not even about them.
* * *
By no means have I become the Zen master of Pennsylvania. While maybe just maybe I'm expressing some new-found maturity, it doesn't take me long to return to my slightly more paranoid, hyper-sensing side. Nor does it take me long to balance the uncertainty with my lighter, jokier, sillier self.
After seeing A Separation, I couldn't help but compare our situation, the Baron's and mine, to the theme of the movie. What is true? What is truth? Who is telling the truth? Is it possible to have more than one truth in any given tale? Misconceptions, misunderstandings, missed connections, mixed emotions--it's all in there, with an unhealthy dose of religious guilt and social shame tossed in for ill measure.
I think we have the makings of an Iranian movie about our lives. Lots of misinterpretations of meanings, lots of unanswered mysteries, lots of repressed desires. In honor of all that Mahmoud Ahmadinijad has wrought in the lives of people, gay and straight in Iran and elsewhere, let's call it . . . A Deviation.
Curse you, Ahmadinijad. But praise be to "allah" you (groan) in my life, past, present, and future. You make it what it is, and it's pretty damn alright most of the time.
Finish that lyric with the appropriate line--
a) "But you get what you need"
b) "Until you know what you want"
c) All of the above
If you chose c) all the above, you're incorrect (the answer is technically speaking b) ), but you're actually "more correct" in a greater, more global, psychological-lil'-ol'-me sense.
Short version? I went to see the Iranian film A Separation last night. I heard from yet another old boyfriend (that makes three since Valentine's). Yesterday was the 5th anniversary of my father's death.
Quite a little trifecta of angst, no?
Long version? Well, how much time do you have?
* * *
First, the movie, which was quite good. I don't know that I thought it was Oscar-winner worthy (Oscar-nominated worthy, most definitely), as I think our illustrious Academy of Motion Picture Sales and Special Effects tends to pick the safest Best Foreign Film every year. #MyOwnOpinion as the kids say on the Twitter. But my opinion and general sense of ridiculousness are what you visit here for, n'est-ce pas?
The movie works on a couple of levels--one being that it shows you a very different world from our own, in which women's fixed roles in society and the pervasiveness of religion, repression, and class affect people's judgments and abilities to act on their own, in their own best self-interest, and in the best interest of others.
Oh hahahaha, had you going there, didn't I!? I know, like, right? How is that any different that our own world? It seems to me to be just a matter of degrees and a few chadors added as part of the set design.
Seriously, it does show differences, how life might operate under a system where religion and the state have a significant role in every aspect of life. But it's really not that different. If anything, the issues at hand--the classic who's telling the truth, what is real and what is not--are universal. Everyone has a version of truth in the story, everyone has their prejudices and perceptions that affect their version of the truth. Their guilt, their needs, their shame, their frustrations. Peeling back the layers reveals even more layers and then finally . . .
As of this writing, A Separation has now been showing in Pittsburgh now for at least three weeks, testament to its appeal and universality I would like to think. If you get the chance, do go see it.
* * *
The story begins with a married couple, Nader and Simin, talking to a legal or religious "interrogator" (according to IMDB, that's the role) about a divorce. Simin wants to leave the country to find a better life for herself, her daughter, and her husband, Nader. Nader, on the other hand, feels he cannot leave the country because his father is infirm and needs constant, round-the-clock care and oversight.
Nader's father has Alzheimer's, which just so happens is the same affliction that befell my father and eventually took his life.
Upon realizing that, I almost left the movie theater. It was, after all, the fifth anniversary of my Dad's death, an event that even just a week earlier had me in tears while I was getting dressed for work. I just wasn't sure I could handle watching the movie in a public space. On the one hand, the movie struck too close to my heart; I wasn't sure I could watch the movie without being overcome with grief and emotion. On the other hand, if the movie got Alzheimer's wrong, dramatizing it for cinematic purposes rather than giving it a more reality-based portrayal, I would get angry and spend the time cursing under my breath at the actors on the screen.
As it turns out, Alzheimer's only played a role in the plot, not *the* role, serving as a catalyst for many of the events that take place. And the way the disease was portrayed seemed emotionally and factually accurate as well. Nader struggles with his job, his life, and his father's care-giving. The efforts to provide for his father's well-being strains and disrupts his life and his family. Simin, who in some ways seems heartless for leaving Nader at that moment, merely suffers from frustration and bad-timing; she clearly loves her husband and her father-in-law and is concerned for her family's well-being, taking great steps to assist and protect them.
In desperate need of assistance, Nader (with Simin's help) hires Razieh to provide care-giving to his father. She, like many of us in this situation, barely understands the problems and needs that Nader's father has. She tries to give him instructions that he clearly can't comprehend. Razieh's daughter Somayeh (perhaps the most adorable little child ever seen on screen) mistakenly lets Nader's father escape from the locked apartment and wander into the street. Nader's frustration grows with Razieh, his father's care-giving, and the complex, desperate situation.
I still found myself cursing under my breath at the screen. Well, not so much cursing, as barking out information. "He can't understand that!" "Watch the door!" "You need to speak slowly!" "What's the underlying need?" (this latter command in relation to why Nader's father kept trying to get out in the open and down the street to the news vendor). "Understand that, and he won't try to escape!"
Of course, it's easier to see all this from hindsight. In the middle of it, trust me, it's difficult to see much of anything, at least if you're a close, impatient relation of the person suffering. My own experience with my Dad during Alzheimer's was somewhat limited as I didn't live in the same city, state, or region as he did. I saw him on periodic visits home and witnessed a generally happy man but one whose mental and physical capacities were gradually in decline. I'll spare you the details, but it's important to note that Alzheimer's not only affects memories of people, places, and times; it eventually affects the remembrance of basic functions, such as walking, eating, and swallowing.
Trying not to take the former personally is a serious challenge. You want your father to remember you, to be the man you always knew him to be. The latter underscores the point that there's nothing personal about Alzheimer's. Stuff happens to people you love, and often it's completely out of everyone's control. It's not all about you. It's not all about me either.
* * *
The return of yet another old boyfriend warrants a post all its own. In fact, each and every one that has reappeared in some capacity in my life since February deserves some digital space and time from me. Eventually, eventually.
For now, it's all a bit too new, and I don't want to talk about it too much, at least until I've sorted things out a bit more in my head.
But let's just say it was something of a cosmic, world-shifting moment to hear from the Baron after many, many years. Five I think? No, more than that, maybe six or even seven. He called me up at work, having tracked me down through the wonder tool that is the internet. On the anniversary of my father's death.
And essentially the message was this: To ask my forgiveness for how things went down between us years ago.
I'm not a push-over these days. After an especially bumpy couple of years, emotionally and professionally, I have learned some hard, overdue lessons about life and about human nature. Since my Dad's death I have also become a somewhat quieter and more private person than before, not sharing myself too easily with others and finding it more difficult to make connections with people. I am a friend, a lover, a colleague, a brother, a son, and I serve in all those roles very well and genuinely. Nevertheless, only a few, only the trustworthy, get in too deep.
But since my Dad's death and other life events, and with the help of a good therapist, I have also somehow become a little lighter in spirit, freer to feel like myself and be that person in public, come hell or high water. I have learned to take life's setbacks and hardships less personally than before. It's not all about me, after all. Sometimes people are just shitty because that's what they do. It doesn't mean that I necessarily did something to bring that out in them and cause them to treat me shabbily. It doesn't even mean that's how they well and truly are. Maybe that's just them at that moment in time. Maybe they're not even being shitty; maybe they're just trying to live their lives, and somehow we end up on the wrong end of their behavior or our perception of their behavior.
Best to just let it go. It's not about you. It's not even about them.
* * *
By no means have I become the Zen master of Pennsylvania. While maybe just maybe I'm expressing some new-found maturity, it doesn't take me long to return to my slightly more paranoid, hyper-sensing side. Nor does it take me long to balance the uncertainty with my lighter, jokier, sillier self.
After seeing A Separation, I couldn't help but compare our situation, the Baron's and mine, to the theme of the movie. What is true? What is truth? Who is telling the truth? Is it possible to have more than one truth in any given tale? Misconceptions, misunderstandings, missed connections, mixed emotions--it's all in there, with an unhealthy dose of religious guilt and social shame tossed in for ill measure.
I think we have the makings of an Iranian movie about our lives. Lots of misinterpretations of meanings, lots of unanswered mysteries, lots of repressed desires. In honor of all that Mahmoud Ahmadinijad has wrought in the lives of people, gay and straight in Iran and elsewhere, let's call it . . . A Deviation.
Curse you, Ahmadinijad. But praise be to "allah" you (groan) in my life, past, present, and future. You make it what it is, and it's pretty damn alright most of the time.
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