I don't really have this one mapped out... we'll see how it goes.
A while ago I was shown a film called Weekend, which is a gay love story. I usually balk at calling things gay anything (why can't it just be a "love story" and all that crap), but in this case the qualifier is quite essential. More on that later.
Anyway, I thought the film was really good - especially the acting and the dialogue. Real people talking, and not talking. Meanings carried inbetween. I figured it was a cool new addition to my catalog of relationship studies.
A day went by, then two, and I realized that it didn't go away. A buzz in the back of my head, a lump in the pit of my stomach - it was still there. I got my own copy, re-watched a few scenes. Started cutting out clips, and flinging them at people. I spread the word. Finally I rested, satisfied.
Some time after, my mother asked me if I could get the movie for her. I had sent her a song that played over the end credits (it was very much her sort of music). She did some digging around on YouTube, found a couple of scenes, and wanted to see the whole thing. I figured why not, except the Polish subs were pretty horrible, so I decided to tweak the translation first. This of course meant that I had to see the whole thing again, which rekindled my urge to share it with someone.
Today I watched the whole thing with Ana, and here is where - at long last - the Thoughts come in. One of the characters in the movie is a self-proclaimed artist and semi-militant gay... activist, I guess? If you consider speechifying about the societal structure to be activism. It's even nicely played up for humor, when he delivers a drunken sermon on the inherent heterosexuality of narrative in popular culture to an increasingly confused middle-aged bar patron. The thing is, my first reaction was to roll my eyes at most of the stuff he said. And then roll them again once I realized that he also serves as a delivery system for the filmmaker's thoughts on the subject (it actually gets a bit meta at one point, with the guy musing on whether anyone will see his work, since it's just gay stuff - but the character is so well-written that I hadn't picked up on it at first).
I kept thinking that I long for the day when you don't need to have a character give the audience a crash course in Being Gay in Our Society, and highlight the suckage involved. Or preach on the importance of taking charge and making up "our own" - i.e. gay - stories. Once again: why do they have to be gay? Why can't they just be "stories"?
Well, the thing is... maybe they can't. Or maybe they shouldn't. It's been hours, and I'm still riding a wave of crushing melancholia. The thing punched right through me and pulled out a horrible, gnawing hunger right to the surface. I can recall only one other instance of me having this guttural a reaction to a film - and that was after seeing Angels in America.
I get emotional watching... my first instinct was to write "universal", but yes, the truth is "straight" stories. Stuff happens, I empathize, I appreciate the nuances, I revel in the dynamics. But I do not get fucking incapacitated. That stuff gets filtered and translated through my brain, I guess. Meanwhile, this movie bypassed all those checkpoints, and interfaced directly. And I doubt that's because it was just that good.
The sinking feeling will pass, I should have it locked and chained again in a day or two, but I guess I might need to rethink some of my kneejerk reactions towards ghettoization.
