The other day, my friend lamented the absence of profound/intellectually stimulating conversations (a la Before Sunrise and Before Sunset) in his life. I admit that I felt all too keenly, the mundane, prosaic nature of all my conversations, after watching these films- envious of the riveting conversations of the lead pair. But I comforted my friend (and myself) by averring that the conversations weren’t real, but scripted by intelligent script writers and executed by talented actors. And no one talks like that in real life anyway.
(Besides, I would be loath to accept a total stranger’s invitation to accompany him/her on a sightseeing tour (no offence meant to Vienna, which I’m told is very picturesque). I mean there is already no dearth of psychopathic axe-murderers in the world without my inviting potential peril. Personally, I thought the guy was ardently hitting on the girl- it was routine“pass- making”, but old wine in a new bottle, nevertheless. The novelty was that he didn’t presume that the girl had only enough intelligence to open her mouth to eat food. The conversation was not only fascinating but also refreshing and flattering because they exchanged ideas and thoughts and not phone numbers. As you can see, I have no imagination and too much pragmatism)
I was watching Brothers and Sisters the other day and got thinking about my relationship with my brother. It’s cordial and civilized. We respect each other’s space, discuss work, I play agony-aunt to him and he supports my harebrained plans. So you see, I thought that it was a convenient arrangement- simple and mutually beneficial. That is until I saw the aforementioned series about siblings. The rich verbal sparring, constant ribbing about embarrassing episodes (again, no embarrassing episodes in our lives), the humour and vibrancy of the conversations made me rethink my tame and muted sibling revelry.
(Many years ago, when our aversion to extreme violence was non-existent, when we hadn’t discovered passive-aggression, when we were still young-ish, my brother and I settled any argument with, let’s just say no diplomacy or tact and a conspicuous lack of words. Now, with our advanced years, our relationship is more Victorian, quietly conservative and placid- quite a departure from Brothers and sisters.)
I think that good cinema and art inspire something akin to distaste/dissatisfaction for one’s own normal, meek and mild life. We tend to escape through these glamourous portals and get to play out our fantasies. But then again, good art is supposed to be true to life, is supposed to imitate life. However, I think that no art is without distortion, without a tinge of the artist’s personality; art is coloured by the artist’s fantasies, his dreams, his desires, his disappointments and triumphs, his soul- which cause these deviations from real life. And these deviations appeal to us, the audience. And we wish our life could imitate the art supposedly imitating life.
For some, the demarcating line where truth stops and fiction begins tends to get blurred. They never do detach themselves from the self that was moved in the movie theatre by some film. They identify more with fantasy and are baffled when their hackneyed lives don’t live up to the hi-falutin’ promises of fiction. And thus begins a rapid descent to dissatisfaction and even depression. The steady, stable quality of their lives is the first casualty. They seek adventure and novelty- the racy, fictional variety and rarely find it. Just like Don Quixote’s wind mills, sane women’s chasing the elusive prince charming from fairy tales/Howard Roark/Rhett Butler, children’s looking for Famous Five adventures, people looking for friends like Friends- the list is long. These peddle dreams, after all. These promise impossible highs and seductive lows.
Escapism sometimes is a defense mechanism, which lets us deal with pent up emotions- without being indecorous. Many of us have dreamt of the retort we should have used for a particularly malicious remark made by a virulent colleague but didn’t out of politeness, or aimed a well-deserved kick (in our fantasy) at an obnoxious fellow a la Ally McBeal or wished we had our very own genie on those Monday mornings. Escapism offers us hope, helps us cope with life’s vagaries and gives us an outlet for our baser instincts, which millennia of civilization haven’t been able to eradicate.
For the most part though, I think we should watch good cinema with a memo to ourselves- “Dangerously fantastic.Don’t try this at home. ”
(Besides, I would be loath to accept a total stranger’s invitation to accompany him/her on a sightseeing tour (no offence meant to Vienna, which I’m told is very picturesque). I mean there is already no dearth of psychopathic axe-murderers in the world without my inviting potential peril. Personally, I thought the guy was ardently hitting on the girl- it was routine“pass- making”, but old wine in a new bottle, nevertheless. The novelty was that he didn’t presume that the girl had only enough intelligence to open her mouth to eat food. The conversation was not only fascinating but also refreshing and flattering because they exchanged ideas and thoughts and not phone numbers. As you can see, I have no imagination and too much pragmatism)
I was watching Brothers and Sisters the other day and got thinking about my relationship with my brother. It’s cordial and civilized. We respect each other’s space, discuss work, I play agony-aunt to him and he supports my harebrained plans. So you see, I thought that it was a convenient arrangement- simple and mutually beneficial. That is until I saw the aforementioned series about siblings. The rich verbal sparring, constant ribbing about embarrassing episodes (again, no embarrassing episodes in our lives), the humour and vibrancy of the conversations made me rethink my tame and muted sibling revelry.
(Many years ago, when our aversion to extreme violence was non-existent, when we hadn’t discovered passive-aggression, when we were still young-ish, my brother and I settled any argument with, let’s just say no diplomacy or tact and a conspicuous lack of words. Now, with our advanced years, our relationship is more Victorian, quietly conservative and placid- quite a departure from Brothers and sisters.)
I think that good cinema and art inspire something akin to distaste/dissatisfaction for one’s own normal, meek and mild life. We tend to escape through these glamourous portals and get to play out our fantasies. But then again, good art is supposed to be true to life, is supposed to imitate life. However, I think that no art is without distortion, without a tinge of the artist’s personality; art is coloured by the artist’s fantasies, his dreams, his desires, his disappointments and triumphs, his soul- which cause these deviations from real life. And these deviations appeal to us, the audience. And we wish our life could imitate the art supposedly imitating life.
For some, the demarcating line where truth stops and fiction begins tends to get blurred. They never do detach themselves from the self that was moved in the movie theatre by some film. They identify more with fantasy and are baffled when their hackneyed lives don’t live up to the hi-falutin’ promises of fiction. And thus begins a rapid descent to dissatisfaction and even depression. The steady, stable quality of their lives is the first casualty. They seek adventure and novelty- the racy, fictional variety and rarely find it. Just like Don Quixote’s wind mills, sane women’s chasing the elusive prince charming from fairy tales/Howard Roark/Rhett Butler, children’s looking for Famous Five adventures, people looking for friends like Friends- the list is long. These peddle dreams, after all. These promise impossible highs and seductive lows.
Escapism sometimes is a defense mechanism, which lets us deal with pent up emotions- without being indecorous. Many of us have dreamt of the retort we should have used for a particularly malicious remark made by a virulent colleague but didn’t out of politeness, or aimed a well-deserved kick (in our fantasy) at an obnoxious fellow a la Ally McBeal or wished we had our very own genie on those Monday mornings. Escapism offers us hope, helps us cope with life’s vagaries and gives us an outlet for our baser instincts, which millennia of civilization haven’t been able to eradicate.
For the most part though, I think we should watch good cinema with a memo to ourselves- “Dangerously fantastic.Don’t try this at home. ”
