Catharsis reviewed

There are films that one should never see twice.

I just saw – against my better judgment – Umberto D.
for the second time in my life.

I shouldn't have done it. And I knew it.

But – ah! – so irresistible was the temptation to touch, if only from afar, from another lifetime, the warm glow of that Sunday afternoon, on a November day almost fifteen years ago, when I first experienced Umberto D., one of Vittorio De Sica's masterpieces, a key work of Italian neorealism.

On that afternoon, I cried so much that my nose and my entire face swelled... but there was such sweet delight in the utter heartbreak.
Do you know the feeling?

My father had just come to my home to resolve what seemed to me – a PC rookie in those days – a major catastrophe. When he left, with a smile on his face (he was happy that I would be able to continue my work – and that HE had been useful), I was just sitting down on the couch, to see Umberto D, the film that was playing on TV that November afternoon which I could see and feel bathed in a soft, amber light.

I was happy and relieved that my PC was alright – after the nerve-wrecking overnight battle with it. And somewhere, in that die-hard nook of my heart, I was also happy to have a daddy who loves me and comes to my rescue when I need him, and will now be returning home, to my lovely mum... and all that on November 1st, when so many others reminisce about happiness (or miseries) past.

As my father left, I plunged into Umberto's Rome, and I cried my eyes out. I think I even missed the final part because my eyes were too swollen to see. And – oh, how I enjoyed it! How bitter-sweet that feeling was!

That was my memory of Umberto D. That is why it held such a special place in my heart. Because of that Sunday afternoon, of amber glow, a November long ago.

I knew I shouldn't have seen it again.
But I just couldn't resist it. I am too weak to resist the call of melancholy and happiness long since vanished.

I saw the film tonight. Reluctantly – but I did see it.
I even enjoyed some of the parts. For the most part, I was appalled at my own faulty memory: there were many, many scenes and characters I didn't remember at all (like the little pregnant servant girl!).

But it was the end – once again – that broke my heart.
Only, this time it wasn't because of Umberto's and the dog's fate.

I was crying for the girl that was able to weep with such utter abandon, with such an open heart, while drawing her bitter-sweet feeling from the comforting shadows of those around me, all those who loved me. Then I wept because I could afford it; because I could indulge in it. Because I was so blessed.

Tonight's tears – very few and easily contained – came out of regret: dry, well-worn regret that I've learned to bear as a second skin, in the past ten years or so.

I knew I wasn't that girl; I knew my life wasn't like it was on that November day.
Why did I watch it?

A single memory – even if distorted (most memories are) – is worth a thousand viewings of the best films. Umberto D - the virgin viewing - had been an untouchable moment in my life.
Why did I need to re-touch it?

To prove to myself that somewhere, in that mysterious realm between everyday life and our nightly fantasies, there still persists a flicker of the Life as it once was?

I will try to erase the second viewing from my memory.
I know I can do it.
Such things come to me quite easily, these days.




Originally published here.
Reproduced by permission.

Bread and games: now see me DIE

What an eventful time this last month or two is proving to be...

Remember this unsightly episode that some of us feared to be a harbinger of a new era: one where the standards of public morality - which to me means humanity as an attitude of consideration towards other people's boundaries and dignity - would be in direct correlation with the increasing lack of adequate physical sustenance?

Bread and games... and he ****** your granddaughter, too!

What worried me - and many others, no doubt - is that just yelling obscenities on air would hardly be the upper limit of the new "freedom of expression" that is upon us.

And it wasn't.

Less than a month later, the world was confronted by this ghastly image:

Horror as teenager commits suicide live

The ghastly image of itself feasting its void eyes on the intolerable pain of somebody else's void.

Never one to lag behind, British TV has summoned up the "courage" to do the same... sort of:

Assisted suicide on TV

This is not an individual's internet blog, mind you: this is TV - "reality TV" driven to its extreme.

And lest there is a misunderstanding: we are not talking about euthanasia here.
They are: the channel that aired it, and many of the other media outlets.

And that's precisely what makes me so angry.
This is not about euthanasia.

If my opinion even matters here, I can tell you that, while I don't necessarily share the views of those who support euthanasia (I happen to believe there is always a possibility to get better, even without medical help), I am not opposed to suicide itself.
And while I think the categoric view "my life is MINE" is somewhat simplistic in view of the meta-physical reality of life, at least I can understand it.

What bothers me - very much so! - in this case is that it's being presented as a "case for euthanasia".

It has very little to do with the moral, ethical and other implications of the ACT itself: it's about purposefully recording and airing the last moments of a living being, thereby removing one of the last "taboos".

And there is a good reason why such things have been a taboo until now: if you open the floodgates, soon ANYTHING and EVERYTHING, including the basest human behaviour, will find its way into the media - and from there, it'll rule the world.

People have always loved gladiator games: the bloodier, the better.

It's just that now they are called "Reality TV".

Are you saying: "But he wanted to do it! It was his decision! He consented to it!"

Indeed, he may even wanted to "help" somebody...

There are many things that people would like to do but they don't - or didn't, until very recently - because they fear the social (or even legal) consequences of their act.

Does that make them "repressed"?

Not really. The stifling of an urge or two for the benefit of respecting other people's rights doesn't really curtail your personal freedom and integrity.

More importantly, if we have to choose - and living in an ever imperfect human society, yes, we HAVE to choose - it's far more acceptable, far better (for all, in the long run) to put up with certain "taboos", even a certain level of "censorship" than to let all hell loose.

Which is exactly what would happen once the barriers of social conventions fell.

Which is exactly where we are headed now - and fast.

Never did the old adage "the public has the right to know" sound so shallow.

I would say: "the public" deserves to be confronted with the horror of its own image in the mirror.

But if we accept this apparent "freedom", we must give up - if we have a shred of moral integrity and honesty left, we must give up - the idea that we, each and every individual, are free to live our lives as we choose, according to the standards we choose, for us and for our children.

This apparent "freedom" is anything but.

The "anything goes" attitude is a simulacrum of freedom: a dangerous, lethal beast that man has never been able to fight, precisely because it has the appearance of freedom.

It is the tyranny of ugliness, of horror, of the basest human instincts presented as if they were the ONLY valid and honest human instincts and aspirations.

It is the advent of the age of terror against anyone who still aspires to live in harmony, in beauty, in a gentle and kind world, where ugliness and violence is a rare and unwelcome intrusion.

(No, my dear naysayers: choosing to live a life free of ugliness and misery does not equal ignorance.

Believing that life has to equal ugliness and violence and misery does.)

Mark my words, my friend: unless a miracle happens, you might soon be harrassed and derided for aspiring to a life of beauty, health and freedom.

You shall not be free to live your life according to your vision of life - unless it's a vision of unbridled baseness.

(I can even predict the word that'll be used against you: you'll be called a "reactionary".)

Think about it.

Think about what freedom really is.

Because if you don't, others will think it for you.

Bread and games - and he ****** your granddaughter, too!

There is a terrible scandal(et) rocking BBC-bound Britain (and merry onlookers worldwide).
Its highest paid star said - yelled - a jocular comment about another radio star doing ungodly things to a beloved elderly actor's kin.

He said it - very ***** explicitly - on the phone.
And he said it on the air, for all to hear.

Just to be clear (because one is inevitably and unjustly judged on the basis of one's personal feelings towards those involved, rather than one's thoughts, however coherent or valid they may be), I hereby state that I actually like the person who uttered the offending blurp - very much so.

His offending blurp(s), however, I dislike - very much so.

But what I dislike most of all is the hypocritical outcry of those who decry the "hypocrisy" of the BBC (and of those members of the public who wrote in to complain about the incident), because said institution decided to punish the offender by suspending him. (The other offender, the radio star, resigned himself.)

What surprisingly many people don't seem to realise is that, if you let the standard of what is acceptable and what not slip, one day we will, once again, think that gladiator games are FUN.

As a matter of fact, we DO think they are fun - only, today they are not called "gladiator games".
They are called "reality TV".

It just shows how fragile human beings – most especially their »morals«, whatever its level or definition of the moment may be - are.

We all know – or should know – how much the society has changed since, say, the Roman empire or the so-called »Middle ages«.

We all know – or should know – how »entertainment« looked in the times of Nero, to pick just one example. People found it entertaining to see people kill each other, or fight wild animals with their bare hands and, most often, being devoured by them. (And these are just some of the more sedate »numbers« that were on offer.)

In the 20th century – and long before that (although not as long as you might think) – such behaviour came to be seen as ghastly, the absolute low point of human behaviour.
(Of course this was the same world that forbade the use of "explicit" terms, such as "menstruation", "sex", even "pregnant" - oh yes! - to be uttered in public media, such as TV.)

So, what happened?
What caused the change?

Do you think the human psyche really changes through the ages?
And if not, what do you think drives »history«?

Nothing in the human psyche itself has changed.
It's just that the imitative streak (»monkey does as monkey sees«) is – was, until recently - no longer fed blood and gore.

It was fed different moral standards, much more restrained - constrained - in matters of public conduct, especially regarding sexuality.

But hypocritical and often ridiculously prudish as it may have been, at least the ban against public obscenity gave some air, some breathing space to those who do not want to revel in the blood (literally or figuratively) of others.
(Voyeurism is not confined to sex, as I am sure you know; it feeds on everything that offers a glimpse of the terrifying face of life - Death, the frightening prospect of obliteration, the fragility of life - and that includes sex.)

The ancient Roman "games" came to an end suddenly – on January 1, 404.
By imperial decree, they were to be shown no more.

I can imagine how angry, even revolted people were, when their favourite show was taken »off the air«.
(I can practically hear them: »By Jove, it's not bad enough that we go hungry, toiling day after day - well, our slaves do, at any rate... now we are left without entertainment, the one thing that made our hearts glad?! Oh, how I wish somebody invented a little box that we could keep at home and would show us every little nasty thing other people do!«
OK, OK - the latter was a flight of fancy too far... -;))

As a matter of fact, we do know more or less exactly how revolted they were.
When a man - a monk called Telemachus - descended into the arena to plead with people to stop it, and admonish them for their lust for blood, they stoned him to death.

But the »show« was shown no more.
(In fact, it was precisely this event what prompted the abrupt end of the games.)

And in time – the new philosophy of humanity coming from the East undoubtedly had more than its fair share of influence in sensitising the masses – people forgot how to be »entertained« by such spectacles. In time – through long centuries – they became to be seen as gruesome as we see them today.

It is ironic that those long centuries, the times that came before us, that brought us here, are now widely regarded as »uptight«, oppressive and, in general, not a nice era to live in. For its lack of »freedom«, you know.

Which is true in many aspects.
But see where the »freedom« has brought us.

Yes, after all the false - or partial - dawns of the centuries past, it looks like a bright day of civil liberties, education and freedom for all (?), and all that.

The problem is, man obviously simply cannot handle too much »freedom«. He lacks the basic knowledge – of his own existential status: the purpose, if there is any, of his being here – to be the master of himself.

And exxistential ignorance breeds existential fear – and existential fear breeds greed, cruelty, selfishness.

Would you really want to trust LIFE, and everything that works towards preserving it, into the hands of someone who doesn't know its purpose and is only driven by his fear that he might lose his own?

We are still the same masses that screamed for bread and games – that screamed even louder when those games were taken away from them.

Those tender souls who are bleeding over the injustice perpetrated against the merry foulmouthed pranksters in the name of fighting »hypocrisy« are only decrying the games being taken away from them.
And it is certainly no coincidence that it all comes at a time when »bread« is being taken from many, much too many.

Let it pass; let the ante slip, tiny millimeter by tiny millimeter at a time.
(And public outrage IS the most reliable indicator of where the ante is, and whether the slip has been swift, whether it is »too much«, or not.)

And then one day, very soon, we'll have sexual intercourse on public TV.
(Oh right: it already happened, I am told. In one - or two - of them "reality shows".)

Next stop, the gladiator games.
(You don't think so? Just drive by any accident scene and count the masses gathering to observe the blood and gore.)

Human psychology does NOT change through the ages. Only the common standards of acceptability change.

Which is why reading the deluge of comments by all those self-complacent "tolerant" souls, bashing the BBC for its (far too mild!) decision, terrifies me far, FAR more than anything unfortunate Jonathan Ross might have said.

***

BONUS: Here is a tangentially relevant piece of writing (about the games in ancient Romes) that you might find interesting: Blood, Sweat, and Cheers.