I spent a good portion of my twenties in the darkened womb of the movie theatre, and like the womb, the theatre provided me with all of life's necessities: food, shelter, a place to pee and a reason for living. As one who chooses to remain numb and oblivious to the chaos of the world around me, the movies provided a release of sorts. It was okay to cry or laugh or scream because it was all make believe -- a two hour fantasy replete with music and mayhem. But eventually I would be pushed forth from the womb, kicking and screaming, and into a world I cared little about. Where was the daunting music to warn me of danger? Who was going to cue the rain so I knew when to be sad? How was I ever to find an emotion of my own without an Oscar nominated cast? These questions plagued me as I entered my thirties and realized life isn't' a movie and not every thing works itself out nicely. So where does that leave us? No director to tell us what to do, no editor to fix our mistakes. Just a blank screen and a whole lot of people counting on us to deliver a stellar performance. Now. . . can we live up to the audience's expectations? Can we give a performance worthy of the academy? And most importantly, can we give this performance all on our own?
No comments:
Post a Comment