No Condition for Love
From a 1984 interview with author Edna O’Brien:
Interviewer: Some think your preoccupation with romance verges at times on the sentimental. You quote Aragon in answer: “Love is your last chance, there is really nothing else to keep you there.”
O’Brien: But my work is concerned with loss as much as with love. Loss is every child’s theme and writers, however mature and wise and eminent, are children at heart. I might, if the gods are good to me, find that my understanding of love has become richer and stronger than my dread of loss.
Interviewer: Is that why, in nearly all your novels, women are longing to establish a simple, loving, harmonious relationship with men, but are unable to do so?
O’Brien: My experience was pretty extreme, so that it is hard for me to imagine harmony, or even affinity, between men and women. I would need to be reborn.
The Church of Forgiveness
It is the end of the year, and I have been musing on forgiveness. In general, I find it a totally bullshit concept–one that people widely tout but rarely practice. And that’s too bad. As I said to a friend today, when a person claims forgiveness that they do not really feel (as is so often the case), their declaration shuts a door with a finality that open resentment never could. I frankly do not see the point of extending forgiveness to a person who is not requesting it, anyway; such a pardon is a condescension, even a self-abnegation. True forgiveness is a contract between two beings who are spiritually progressing by mutually transcending their comfort zones: by courageously addressing their culpability; by honoring active vulnerability with grace. That said, in the absence of such hard-won peace, I see the point in releasing anger and acknowledging the beauty that lives in even the most harmful individuals. Such a fearless act, especially when unaccompanied by codependence, is one of the finest ways we can love people, including ourselves, at their most unlovable.
Coal-Hearted Cinema
Although I do my best to find the bright side of this time of year, my greatest pop-culture solace lies in the grimmer holiday film fare. Herein lies a list of dark Christmas movies that I originally compiled for Word and Film; consider it a mint on your pillow from the proprietress of Moulin Scrooge.
“The Ref” (1994)
Directed by Ted Demme (the late nephew of director Jonathan Demme), this stars Denis Leary as a potty-mouthed cat burglar who holds the wrong Connecticut couple hostage over the holidays. Judy Davis and Kevin Spacey are brilliant as spouses bound only by their matching sneers; supporting turns from J.K. Simmons as a military school commander and Glynis Johns as a mommie dearest-in-law round out the domestic sadism nicely. An excellent entry in the “Marriage Is Hard” film genre repopularized by “Gone Girl.”
“Bad Santa” (2003)
As a shopping mall Santa drowning in Wild Turkey and his own special strain of foul-mouthed misanthropy, Bill Bob Thornton is the ultimate antidote to candy cane cheer. Directed by Terry Zwigoff (“Crumb,” “Ghost World”), executive produced by the Coen Brothers, and co-starring the likes of John Ritter, Bernie Mac, Lauren Graham, and Tony Cox, this may be the crankiest – and least sentimental – Christmas movie ever crafted. Trust me, that’s a compliment.
“Batman Returns” (1992) Directed by Tim Burton, this is the most macabre of all the Batman movies – including, yes, Christopher Nolan’s recent hot messes. Set during the Christmas season, this stars Danny DeVito as the Penguin, Michelle Pfeiffer as Catwoman, Christopher Walken as a nefarious tycoon, a bevy of visual puns based on ice, and, of course, Michael Keaton as The Bat. It’s especially fun to revisit now that Keaton is starring in “Birdman,” the much-touted, thinly disguised meta-commentary on his inclusion in this film franchise.
“Metropolitan” (1990)
This account of New York City debutantes during one holiday season is one of the archest (and most articulate) films ever made about lifestyles of the rich and un-famous. As dour as it is dapper, Whit Stillman’s debut feature serves up an an uneasily brilliant catalog of the cultural decline of the “Urban Haute Bourgeoisie” to which these twentysomethings (including a then-unknown Christopher Eigeman) belong.
“A Christmas Tale” (2008)
About a fractured clan reassembled for Christmas to find a bone marrow match for their leukemia-stricken matriarch (Catherine Deneuve!), this offering from French director Arnaud Desplechin is jumbled, novelistic, gorgeous, erotic, neurotic, heart-rending, and deeply, deeply skeptical of “blood bonds.” Costarring such European greats as Mathieu Amalric, Emmanuelle Devos, and Chiara Mastroianni (Deneuve’s daughter, a star in her own right), this is one of the best films of the Aughts – and easily the most underrated. Continue Reading →