My last post mentioned Uncle Vanya, one of my favorite plays of all time. I've been in it once, playing the idealistic doctor Astrov; written a stage adaptation of it called Fenway: Last of the Bohemians, which sets the story on a faded hippie commune in the 1980s had a run in NYC in 2007; and wrote a pilot for a series based on Fenway, called Sunny.
I clearly dig it.
The other day, I went to a matinee screening of Drive My Car, which follows a man in Japan who is directing a production of Uncle Vanya and dealing with loss, grief, infidelity, and life in general.
I dug it the most.
The movie is three hours long, which I suppose is a long time for a movie.
Even though I can binge watch four or five hours of The Clone Wars in one sitting, no problem. And I can play Contest of Champions on my phone forever. I can also sit on a plane pretending not to worry about crashing for many hours as well.
So I guess three hours isn't really all that much of an ask for a film. I mean, I love movies, stories, images and sound. I love popcorn, sitting in the dark, and losing myself in other worlds. Three hours is nothing, really.
Life is short, and movies are shorter.
So I spent three hours lost in a world full of people who have sorrow and regret and joy and hope. People who mourn the dead and are haunted by memories of what could have been, what should have been, and will never come to light now. People who have had their hearts broken, and broken hearts as well. People who makes huge mistakes. Some mistakes are made due to a passion they can't control. Some are the result of a sense of anger that can't be fully articulated and so comes out in unintended ways, with unintended consequences.
Three hours with people who struggle with their daily lives.
So I spent three hours in an alternate reality that was shockingly like the one I live in.
Not only is there a lot of Vanya in the film, there is also a bit of Waiting for Godot, another favorite of mine.
I seem to like stories about life being rough that are supposed to be funny but that lots of people find maudlin.
I think there are some folks in the world who find tragedy humorous. And comedy to be full of sadness and frustration.
Maybe the theatre masks, comedy and tragedy, should just be called The Masks of Life.
Now masks are things we put on to present a certain trait or character, to hide who we really are and what we are really feeling. As I think of this, I think of how I present myself to the world. Usually, I wear the comedy mask, and point out all the contradictions that race back and forth over the field of our lives. Other folks I know seem to wear the tragedy mask, and come off as most happy when relating to others the worlds woes, as well as the travails of themselves, their families, their co-workers, the Kardashians, you name it.
We are a strange species, to be sure.
But we are also glorious.
I think that is the main thing I got from Drive My Car. That even though we make gigantic mistakes, and don't do what we should; even though we betray one another and ourselves, there is within us a greatness, a possibility for kindness and love, when confronted with the horrors of existence.
We can laugh and cry and hold each other's hands. And we can have compassion for ourselves and others when we aren't able to do any of that.
And we can sit in a movie theatre for three hours.
Today's song if Frente!'s cover of New Order's Bizarre Love Triangle.
And for today's bonus material, here is the final bit from my play Fenway. Fenway is the Uncle Vanya Character, and Reality is Sonya, his niece.
FENWAY
I can't do this. This isn't my life. It can't be! I don't know what to do. I don't know who to be. How do you go on living in this God damned world? Can anyone answer that for me?
REALITY
By living your life. By trying to make a difference. By trying to do something worthwhile in this world. I know you feel terrible. I know it seems like the end of the world. But it isn't, not really. This is just the hand we've been dealt, pure and simple. I can’t tell you why. But I can tell you that we'll live with it. We'll deal with whatever life throws at us. If we have to, we'll work crappy jobs for crappy people we don’t like or even know. Maybe we won’t find the love we want, or the home we need. Maybe our nights will be long and empty. Our lives might seem nothing more than a sad, lonely parade. So what? We'll do the best we can with what we have, quietly, with dignity. And when we get to Heaven, and I promise you we will get there, we'll talk about all the hard times, the tears and frustrations and injustices. We'll cry for a hundred years if we have to. And God will cry with us and hold us in her arms. We'll just cry for as long as it takes. And then, after we let it all go, we'll realize that we're in Heaven, and all is well. We'll be able to talk about our lives and actually smile. Won't that be something? To be able to smile at our lives? And finally, we'll sleep the sleep of angels and dream dreams that defy explanation. That's what's we'll do. I have faith, Uncle Fenway. I know that sounds crazy, but I do. I believe.
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