Inside killing

http://theactofkilling.com/

It’s not the first time I’ve posted about this movie… but this time I’ve actually watched it. (Finding a 2.5 hour chunk of time to commit turned out to be tough.) It was interestingly not as overtly shocking as I had expected. In fact, the parts I found the most disturbing were seeing Anwar, the main character, in moments of gentleness, with his grandsons or with some ducks. Seeing him show remorse was likewise subtly upsetting. I wanted him to be purely evil, easy to hate.

Other than the entire character of Herman, the other most-disturbing moment that comes to mind was when Anwar & Co. go on an Indonesian talk show. The hostess is bright, chipper, lauding them for their more-humane method of extermination. They’re joking, basking in the spotlight, if not heroes then too damn close to tell the difference.

Anwar, talking about a propaganda film that demonized Communists: “For me, that film is the one thing that makes me feel not guilty. I watch the film and feel reassured.”

Adi, a bit later on: “Killing is the worst crime you can do. So the key is to find a way not to feel guilty. It’s all about finding the right excuse.”

All over the world people are killing. In South Sudan, in Central African Republic, in Syria, in Iraq, in Palestine, in Ukraine, in Honduras and Mexico, and in this country, too… Recognizing the universal human capacity to adapt, to manage and integrate psychological dissonance, to create alternate versions of reality in order to justify ourselves makes it all a little easier to understand and at the same time even more terrifying.

An artistic postscript – fascinating to see film used reflectively – how by scripting and participating in the re-enactment of events, then viewing them, these men approached their personal and societal histories by a different route – and then to watch how the opportunities for reflection were either engaged or ignored.

As I Am

Phenomenal… poetic… heart-rending:

Repetitions

I reiterate the Rumi quote “Your task is not to seek love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it” only because life has repeated a variation on last week…

As I boarded the train tonight to come home after class, I noticed a long, wide-leaved stem of a plant extending from the back of a seat. The man to whom it belonged looked at me and smiled as I took the seat across from him. I smiled back, then entered my normal train mode, trying not to look too observant of a group of four junkies nervously scanning the train while discussing and exchanging (?) stolen phones two rows ahead of me.

After a while my neighbor across the aisle caught my attention and as I turned toward him, he held out his hand, offering me a green pod. I took it and asked him if it came from the plant he was carrying. He said it did, and proceeded to explain that he had been walking by someone’s yard and had asked for a cutting that the person had just pruned from a plant. He described how he planned to let it root in water, plant it in a pot, and later transplant it outside. He told me it was called higo in Spanish, that I should let it ripen for a few days and then eat it. A nearby fellow passenger said it was like a guayaba, then another helpfully provided the correct translation: a fig.

We chatted a bit as the next few stops passed. I asked him where he was from and he told me he was from Mexico and that he did landscaping. I was struck by how eager he was to talk, how intent on communicating even while struggling at times to find the right words. I said goodbye at my stop and he said “God bless you” as I moved toward the door.

I don’t know why he chose to share with me. I found the gift and gesture so beautiful. I was also a little sad to notice that although I responded in a friendly way, I could feel some anxiety and defensiveness inside… flashing back to past uncomfortable situations of being approached by men in public spaces. I didn’t want him to ask me for anything in return. I was suspicious that maybe there was something else behind the generosity and kindness, some expectation or demand. Rather than being able to fully appreciate and freely accept the moment, part of me was caught up in the awkwardness of an imaginary scenario that I was unconsciously half manufacturing, half remembering, then superimposing over what was actually happening.

Life has sent me a handful of love and beauty – the green fig I carried home and which I will watch as it ripens. And perhaps I can learn how to move out from behind some of my barriers as I reflect on the openness and generosity of its giver.

As if love were looking for us

As I walked into class tonight, I passed a girl sleeping or passed out on the corner, alone, lying on a ratty sleeping bag. She was young-ish, probably in her 20s, and looked like she’d been in the street for a while. I didn’t take much note of her; thought she looked vulnerable and had a sort of fleeting concern mixed with a certain tiredness one might call a touch of chronic compassion fatigue, if one were to get technical about it.

On the way out two hours later, I saw her standing up, folding up her sleeping bag with the help of a male companion. As I passed she and I made eye contact and we both smiled or at least looked pleasantly at each other. As I passed, I just barely heard her commenting about my “pretty dress.” I turned back toward her and then she said, speaking up so I could hear it, “You’re looking very beautiful today!” I thanked her and we both continued on our ways.

I read a Rumi quote yesterday that said, “Your task is not to seek love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.”

It makes it sound as if love is everywhere, immanent in all moments and all things, radiant, bathing us, unquestionable as air, a ready source of nourishment.

Maybe it is.

Ways of growing old

Beautifully strong and frank and vulnerable. What a fascinating portrait of a woman with a powerful voice. How fearful and unafraid she seems at the same time.

http://www.nytimes.com/video/theater/1194834046682/elaine-stritch.html?action=click&pgtype=Homepage&module=video-player-region&region=video-player-region&WT.nav=video-player-region

The image is from NPR, where there’s another interview with her:

http://www.npr.org/2014/01/31/269501924/elaine-stritch-on-song-travels

I haven’t listened to it yet, but since I wanted to credit the photo thought I might as well throw it in 🙂

A delectable bite

I. Just. Love. This. Blog:

http://hchom.com/

Smart, articulate, wry… and the drawings are pure delight.

Close to the truth

I was attempting to watch Ten by Abbas Kiarostami but accidentally selected 10 on Ten, which is a discussion of the film structured as a series of lessons, with topics ranging from setting to actors. They’re filmed by a camera fixed on the passenger side of the car as Kiarostami is driving and talking. It echoes the camera placement and setting of the film Ten, which follows a woman taxi driver in Tehran, showing her conversations with various passengers. Here’s a sample:

Although the film’s not a documentary, he used real people, some of whom (like the taxi driver and her son) had the same relationship to one another in the film that they do in real life. He describes this as being “independent from everyday reality, but close to the truth.”

Lots of interesting commentary… on the relationship (or mutual non-dependence) between sound and image, the connection between the clothes people wear and their inner worlds, ambiguity (“it’s ambiguity that attracts us to a work, not understanding”), omission (which “involves the viewer in making the film – we create not by adding but subtracting”), and the filmmaker’s responsibility “to accept reality ,even when it does not comply with our taste.”

Still need to finish the film. I watched it several years ago and remember it being engaging and powerful. I’m thinking a lot about documentary these days as I progress through the documentary workshop I’m taking. I find a lot of overlap between reality and artifice in so many films. Of course there’s the reality show industry which artlessly combines what I would consider to be the worst of both worlds. But here is a film with non-professional actors playing themselves, or something quite close to themselves. And on the other hand, many of the documentary films I’ve been watching lately show situations that are generated or facilitated partly for the purposes of the film (The Cove, for example, or the charming short film Caine’s Arcade).

The lines are blurry. But do we really need them? Isn’t creativity all just a great experiment?

Lève-toi et marche !

Et pour les francophones… au sujet d’un experience plutôt différent… un commentaire fort et très intéressante….

Whole and whole

The most recent film in my documentary quest – Murderball.

Great story, great characters. I love how it shows the possibility of being a whole person – and indeed, of being a flawed person – in the situation of adjusting to changes in mobility and function, overriding typical expectations about disability. The film portrays aggression just as readily as it shows vulnerability and is just as honest about the accomplishments as it is about the limitations of its protagonists.

I also couldn’t help but notice how the main storylines focused on meaningful work (in this case the sport) and love, whether romantic or familial. It’s what we all need and what the lucky among us find in this life, no matter what our particular challenges may be. By no means do I want to be taken as being flippant about the obstacles and losses that come with severe spinal injury and its sequelae. But I have known many people who are “whole” in body who are nowhere near the level of living life as the men in this film.

And I’d like to take the opportunity to share the fantastic work of an old favorite – Cliff Enright is a painter who is quadriplegic. Many of his beautiful watercolors are here:

http://cliffenright.com/wordpress/

It makes me ask myself, what am I doing with the raw materials of my life and how can I shape and integrate the broken pieces into a living, dynamic whole?

Something about love

I have a dear friend, R, who was with me in one of the most painful moments of my life. She was in another city, but talking to her made me feel that I could survive that experience and go on. Another time, when she was visiting me, I was talking, and somehow got caught up in a stream of angst and confusion. In the midst of this, she just suddenly threw her arms around me and gave me a huge, strong hug. Suddenly I felt reassured and calmed in a way I don’t think I would have felt if she’d talked to me for hours without touching me.

I remember another friend, C, telling me that the guy she was dating at the time would always come closer to her and stay nearby, physically, when she was angry or upset. I know that my own impulse when angry or in the presence of anger is often to move away, both physically and emotionally. And it’s true that sometimes what the situation needs is space and the possibility to cool and decompress. But the opposite has the potential to be courageous and healing in a different way. (I’m not talking here, of course, of putting oneself in the way of violence or abuse.)

Sometimes words are the shortest path for love… sometimes touch, sometimes presence.

I am learning to look for love, and to offer it. I think this is a worthy practice and one that I need.