November 29, 2017

Babette's Feast



Grounded by surgery, I spent Thanksgiving eating burgers and watching Babette's Feast, which I had not seen for many years. I first saw it in the 80s, during the heyday of foreign films in art houses, before their screens were taken over by the American indie wave of the 90s. Although some shots seem overly obvious now, it still has its magic.


The story is of a pair of spinster sisters in 19th-century Denmark. They live in a tiny village where their father was the leader of a small congregation. We see them in flashbacks as young women, passing by the opportunity for love in order to care for their father and his flock. Now they are old women, bringing soup to the infirm and trying to keep their increasing querulous congregation in a state of grace and harmony. One day a woman arrives on the doorstep from Paris, fleeing political persecution. She has nothing, is cold and homeless, and the sisters take her in. A note from a long ago acquaintance asks them to welcome her, mentioning that she can cook.


To say more would ruin any first viewings, but there is a feast, of course, heralded by the title, and it brings moments both comic and poignant. The movie touches on themes of loss, ascetic and self-indulgent tendencies, and the evanescence of both beauty and pain. Most of all, it offers slow art, which we are so in need of. To reap its rewards, you have to sink into the film's own rhythm and timeline—which turns out to be a lovely place to be.

November 17, 2017

How Life Informs Good Art

Today I’m watching Arrival on TV as I rest at home after surgery.

As Amy Adams’s character ascends into the alien spaceship with her protective jumpsuit on, after getting some inoculations and experiencing the ship’s weird gravity, she struggles for breath as others in her party exchange information and banter.

I find myself riveted by her drama, which is the drama of biological survival. I now know what it is like to struggle for breath and consciousness while the world carries on as normal around me. The bad feeling all through my body. The way everything else is a blur. How is takes all of my resources—attention, effort, muscle power—just to breathe. Everything else is kind of gray and fuzzy. And I recognize the way her team leader speaks to her: authoritative but kind and encouraging. How many times have I heard that precise tone from EMTs, nurses, and orderlies over the last few months.

Suffering leads to wisdom—one of the great truths of human life. Experiencing that wisdom in art feels like a little blessing.