Last night I made another trip to the Grand Illusion (yeah, big surprise, I know), this time to see a couple of documentaries, one about the history of Faubourg Treme, a mostly black neighborhood in New Orleans, the other about a small group of American surfers who travel to post-war Liberia. Both films had me mesmerized. It's an amazing experience to watch a film and actually feel like you have been changed by it, to learn of horrors committed by man and nature, and yet to feel hopeful at the end of it all that things can change for the better, that people can build bridges to gap the hate, the pain, and the misery. Recent reading and slide shows about the Israeli/Palestinian conflict, both past and present, have also highlighted the powerful need for forgiveness and love in a world that sometimes feels ruled by revenge and fear.
Lately I feel hyper-aware of the fact that I live in a position of extreme privilege. Not only do I have more than adequate shelter, more than enough to eat, more than enough to wear, and have all my basic needs more than met, but my life is also free from hate, fear, and any truly difficult situations. My husband and family are alive and well, and my relationships with friends and family are a blessing, not a curse. It feels, at times, as though I live in a tight cocoon, wrapped in love, safe from the outside world. Of course, I know this could change in a heartbeat. None of us know what the future may hold. But for now, I'm in awe of this life.
Yet while I'm thankful for all of this, I hesitate to say I've been blessed by God. Perhaps, but what does that imply towards those who are lacking in material and familial comforts? I certainly believe God loves them just as much as me, or any other human, and I have done nothing to earn any special blessings. One thing that stood out while watching the film Sliding Liberia was how many of the Liberians, after having lived through an atrocious civil war, still gave thanks to God for their place on this earth, still looked to God for their hope. It is the only way, perhaps, that one can survive such terror intact. We must look to something beyond ourselves, and give thanks for even the smallest piece of happiness to enter our lives.
With Thanksgiving around the corner, perhaps it's natural to be thinking of our blessings. But I pray that not a single day will go by that I forget to be thankful, or that I forget those in need of love, forgiveness, healing, hope, and a life or their own, free from want and fear. As a world, we still have a long way to go before we get there.
Showing posts with label Grand Illusion Cinema. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Grand Illusion Cinema. Show all posts
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Thursday, November 12, 2009
A Reel Deal
I've stated before that film screenings at the Grand Illusion Cinema can be small affairs. And last night, it finally happened: Michael and I were the only people at the show.
"You get a private screening!" the volunteer projectionist laughed nervously while introducing the film, which happened to be the 1947 film Odd Man Out (excellent movie, by the way; I highly recommend it).
We munched on popcorn doused with "nutritional yeast", which is much tastier than it sounds, and is quite possibly the most addictive popcorn topping ever. The film rolled and we were transported to a chilly night in the Northern Ireland of the 1940s, following an IRA fugitive attempt to escape his dire fate.
Finally, the words "The End" appeared on the screen, and we wandered back out into the cold Seattle night. Popcorn and a movie: $13. Getting our own special show for the price of a typical movie ticket these days: priceless.
"You get a private screening!" the volunteer projectionist laughed nervously while introducing the film, which happened to be the 1947 film Odd Man Out (excellent movie, by the way; I highly recommend it).
We munched on popcorn doused with "nutritional yeast", which is much tastier than it sounds, and is quite possibly the most addictive popcorn topping ever. The film rolled and we were transported to a chilly night in the Northern Ireland of the 1940s, following an IRA fugitive attempt to escape his dire fate.
Finally, the words "The End" appeared on the screen, and we wandered back out into the cold Seattle night. Popcorn and a movie: $13. Getting our own special show for the price of a typical movie ticket these days: priceless.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
La Belle et La Bete
Before there was Disney's Belle there was la Belle of Jean Cocteau (and before that a history of French authors, but I'm not going back that far in time). Inhabiting a mysterious, hazy world of black and white, she comes to love the Beast... or does she? For while Disney's characters are clear of purpose and personality, the dream world that Cocteau's Belle inhabits is an eerier place, where motives are sometimes muddled.
As someone who has always loved fairy tales, I have been eagerly awaiting the Grand Illusion's showing of Beauty and the Beast for the past month. And while I loved the fantastical world captured on screen, I left the theater feeling somewhat puzzled. In the end, as we all know, Belle's true love has transformed the Beast into the prince of her dreams. But again, is it really so simple? In Cocteau's version the Beast and Belle's former suitor appear to magically trade places, and Belle herself admits to the love she has for both. Is it her perseverance that brings her what her heart really desires, even after she rejects the proposals both earlier incarnations?
But that, in essence, is life. Love, and the decisions it forces us to make, is never that straightforward. Except, perhaps, in the case of a true beast.
"Ma bete!" Michael and I exclaimed upon seeing Lucy as we arrived back at home. Our own little beast wiggled with glee and rushed to greet us. Some things, it would seem, are indeed just as they appear.
As someone who has always loved fairy tales, I have been eagerly awaiting the Grand Illusion's showing of Beauty and the Beast for the past month. And while I loved the fantastical world captured on screen, I left the theater feeling somewhat puzzled. In the end, as we all know, Belle's true love has transformed the Beast into the prince of her dreams. But again, is it really so simple? In Cocteau's version the Beast and Belle's former suitor appear to magically trade places, and Belle herself admits to the love she has for both. Is it her perseverance that brings her what her heart really desires, even after she rejects the proposals both earlier incarnations?
But that, in essence, is life. Love, and the decisions it forces us to make, is never that straightforward. Except, perhaps, in the case of a true beast.
"Ma bete!" Michael and I exclaimed upon seeing Lucy as we arrived back at home. Our own little beast wiggled with glee and rushed to greet us. Some things, it would seem, are indeed just as they appear.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
The Knife's Edge
After last night's no-show, Amy V and I were pleased to find that our foray back to the Grand Illusion tonight was not in vain; we arrived on time, as, in fact, did about eight others (a real crowd for the Grand Illusion). The show would go on!
The film was Roman Polanski's Knife in the Water, a tense drama with only three players, a married couple and the hitchhiker that the husband impetuously invites on their sailboat outing as a not-so-subtle way to prove himself to his disillusioned wife. And if you're going to show a knife in the first act, it better be used in the third... and although it was, it was not in the way I had expected. Is this good filmmaking - thwarting the expectations of the audience, yet keeping them in suspense? Or a willful disregard for Chekhov's gun principle?
But the film did remind me of a Chekhov play, full of symbolism representing the disintegration of a marriage, fighting to prove ourselves regardless of our age, and the psychological manipulation used by both sexes to test the waters around them. I can't say I enjoyed the film as one does when watching a movie merely for entertainment, but it did make me think, and sometimes that's a good thing (OK, that didn't come out quite right - thinking is always a good thing, but what I mean to say is it can be good to watch a film that forces you to mull it over, not just turn your brain off for a couple of hours).
And as a side note, the film really made me wish I was sailing! Just not with those three, of course.
The film was Roman Polanski's Knife in the Water, a tense drama with only three players, a married couple and the hitchhiker that the husband impetuously invites on their sailboat outing as a not-so-subtle way to prove himself to his disillusioned wife. And if you're going to show a knife in the first act, it better be used in the third... and although it was, it was not in the way I had expected. Is this good filmmaking - thwarting the expectations of the audience, yet keeping them in suspense? Or a willful disregard for Chekhov's gun principle?
But the film did remind me of a Chekhov play, full of symbolism representing the disintegration of a marriage, fighting to prove ourselves regardless of our age, and the psychological manipulation used by both sexes to test the waters around them. I can't say I enjoyed the film as one does when watching a movie merely for entertainment, but it did make me think, and sometimes that's a good thing (OK, that didn't come out quite right - thinking is always a good thing, but what I mean to say is it can be good to watch a film that forces you to mull it over, not just turn your brain off for a couple of hours).
And as a side note, the film really made me wish I was sailing! Just not with those three, of course.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
A Grand Illusion Indeed
Named for a French film film of the 1930s, the Grand Illusion is a tiny jewel box of a theater that sits at the corner of University Way and 50th Street in Seattle's U District. Though attendance is sparse (and I don't think the theater hold more than 75, anyway), it's one of my favorite places to catch a movie in Seattle.
We were running late for tonight's showing of Knife in the Water, but Amy V, Michael, and I sprinted down the block in an effort to get there before the film rolled... only to find a locked door. Squeezing through the attached Starlife on the Oasis Cafe, I found two volunteers in the projection room, but the film wasn't running. It was late, no one had shown up on time, and they weren't going to show the movie for a grand total of three people who would only have had to pay ten bucks all together (with Tuesday being Member Mooch Night, Amy would've been free since Michael and I are members).
And really, I can't blame them. And I wonder how many times this has happened before, and I wonder again why so few people come here. Shouldn't the local college kids be lapping this stuff up? Art house flicks and bizarro late night shows on the weekends? The fact is, other than the annual It's a Wonderful Life Christmas party viewing (which, perhaps not coincidentally, is free for everyone), I don't think I've ever seen more than ten people in the audience, and even ten is a stretch.
So instead of spending an evening reading subtitles, we wound up drinking bubble tea at nearby Pochi while playing Yahtzee with a random assortment of dice. Not what we had had in mind, but hey, still a chance to get out. And Amy and I are considering trying the 9pm showing tomorrow... and this time we won't be late.
We were running late for tonight's showing of Knife in the Water, but Amy V, Michael, and I sprinted down the block in an effort to get there before the film rolled... only to find a locked door. Squeezing through the attached Starlife on the Oasis Cafe, I found two volunteers in the projection room, but the film wasn't running. It was late, no one had shown up on time, and they weren't going to show the movie for a grand total of three people who would only have had to pay ten bucks all together (with Tuesday being Member Mooch Night, Amy would've been free since Michael and I are members).
And really, I can't blame them. And I wonder how many times this has happened before, and I wonder again why so few people come here. Shouldn't the local college kids be lapping this stuff up? Art house flicks and bizarro late night shows on the weekends? The fact is, other than the annual It's a Wonderful Life Christmas party viewing (which, perhaps not coincidentally, is free for everyone), I don't think I've ever seen more than ten people in the audience, and even ten is a stretch.
So instead of spending an evening reading subtitles, we wound up drinking bubble tea at nearby Pochi while playing Yahtzee with a random assortment of dice. Not what we had had in mind, but hey, still a chance to get out. And Amy and I are considering trying the 9pm showing tomorrow... and this time we won't be late.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Strawberry Fields Forever
Rutabagastories ground to an unexpected halt last week as our internet connection faltered. After much testing, Michael, with the help of his techie friend Howard, determined that the modem is at fault. Qwest has agreed to send us a new one, but for the moment I'm utilizing my housemate's computer.
It's funny how dependent we are on the internet these days. Had I not had access while at work, what would I have done? Emails, not phone calls, make up the majority of my long distance communication with friends, and nearly all of my current information on the outside world comes to me via the world wide web (or office gossip; there are some things that never change).
On Monday Michael and I pursued the more old-fashioned activity of going out to a movie. Entering the tiny Grand Illusion Cinema on the Ave, paying with check instead of credit, and sitting down to watch Ingmar Bergman's Wild Strawberries in the well-worn theater seats made me feel more than a little nostalgic. With the whir of the film reel heard faintly behind us, and specks of dust making split second appearances on the screen as the story unfolded, this seemed the perfect way to view what is inherently a nostaglic movie. Seeing Professor Borg reminisce over mostly painful memories, yet somehow be able to move beyond the hurts of the past, including the many he himself created, both saddened and uplifted me.
After the showing, Michael and I went to Pochi for a late night bubble tea. Slurping tapioca up through a straw, listening to the Blue Scholars on the cafe stereo system sing about The Ave, I remembered the two of us sitting in this very place years before, following another movie at the Grand Illusion. I used to feel that my life revolved around the U District - I worked there, hung out there, went shopping, and went to church all within a few blocks of University Way, although our apartment was a couple of miles to the east. Years ago, when I first heard the Blue Scholars, I could relate - the Ave was my street, too.
These are mostly good memories, though, and I hope when, in my old age, I look back on my life I will be able to face fewer regrets than Professor Borg. With this new-fangled internet, I'll even have a digital record here to remind me. Unless, of course, the modem breaks down again. Maybe then my memories will return as surreal dreams, but for now I just want a reliable way to get back online.
It's funny how dependent we are on the internet these days. Had I not had access while at work, what would I have done? Emails, not phone calls, make up the majority of my long distance communication with friends, and nearly all of my current information on the outside world comes to me via the world wide web (or office gossip; there are some things that never change).
On Monday Michael and I pursued the more old-fashioned activity of going out to a movie. Entering the tiny Grand Illusion Cinema on the Ave, paying with check instead of credit, and sitting down to watch Ingmar Bergman's Wild Strawberries in the well-worn theater seats made me feel more than a little nostalgic. With the whir of the film reel heard faintly behind us, and specks of dust making split second appearances on the screen as the story unfolded, this seemed the perfect way to view what is inherently a nostaglic movie. Seeing Professor Borg reminisce over mostly painful memories, yet somehow be able to move beyond the hurts of the past, including the many he himself created, both saddened and uplifted me.
After the showing, Michael and I went to Pochi for a late night bubble tea. Slurping tapioca up through a straw, listening to the Blue Scholars on the cafe stereo system sing about The Ave, I remembered the two of us sitting in this very place years before, following another movie at the Grand Illusion. I used to feel that my life revolved around the U District - I worked there, hung out there, went shopping, and went to church all within a few blocks of University Way, although our apartment was a couple of miles to the east. Years ago, when I first heard the Blue Scholars, I could relate - the Ave was my street, too.
These are mostly good memories, though, and I hope when, in my old age, I look back on my life I will be able to face fewer regrets than Professor Borg. With this new-fangled internet, I'll even have a digital record here to remind me. Unless, of course, the modem breaks down again. Maybe then my memories will return as surreal dreams, but for now I just want a reliable way to get back online.
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