I watched THE HEART IS A LONELY HUNTER this week and Alan Arkin's performance has really stuck with me.
There is this scene following the Singer learning of the Death of his friend Spiros. Singer is walking down a darkened street. He is upset. As he walks along he holds his arms straight down, you can see that he is signing (sign language) to himself frantically, like man who is drowning in his despair as his world comes crashing down on him. Arkin portrays this so poignantly as the rush of sadness for this man trapped now forever in the loneliness that surrounds him. The moment was it seeing him pleading for some relief- if I thought My friend Steven could take this depressing movie I would have him translate what Singer is saying at that moment. I would like to know but then I wouldn't.
It hits too close to home.
I am Singer (at least as he is portrayed here) or rather there are times that I feel this way. It is as if everyone can see me but no one is listening to what I am saying.
I can be in a conversation with someone and they will start talking about themselves or something else as if I had not spoken or will latch onto something that is not relevant to what I am saying.
It probably doesn't actually happen but for me at that moment it does.
This is not a moment where you rise up determined to fight (it's not Tara) I am not Scarlet O'Haring it a rising up with my fist in the air and screaming "Tomorrow is another day!"
or something like that.
This is a moment or surrender to despair or flee. This is a moment where my first instinct is to set every ablaze and ride out into the West like a cowboy leaving his past in the dust.
Sometimes we need to leave a space between us and the movies we watch. Sometimes people are listening even when we are sure they aren't.
What is this about?
There is this scene following the Singer learning of the Death of his friend Spiros. Singer is walking down a darkened street. He is upset. As he walks along he holds his arms straight down, you can see that he is signing (sign language) to himself frantically, like man who is drowning in his despair as his world comes crashing down on him. Arkin portrays this so poignantly as the rush of sadness for this man trapped now forever in the loneliness that surrounds him. The moment was it seeing him pleading for some relief- if I thought My friend Steven could take this depressing movie I would have him translate what Singer is saying at that moment. I would like to know but then I wouldn't.
It hits too close to home.
I am Singer (at least as he is portrayed here) or rather there are times that I feel this way. It is as if everyone can see me but no one is listening to what I am saying.
I can be in a conversation with someone and they will start talking about themselves or something else as if I had not spoken or will latch onto something that is not relevant to what I am saying.
It probably doesn't actually happen but for me at that moment it does.
This is not a moment where you rise up determined to fight (it's not Tara) I am not Scarlet O'Haring it a rising up with my fist in the air and screaming "Tomorrow is another day!"
or something like that.
This is a moment or surrender to despair or flee. This is a moment where my first instinct is to set every ablaze and ride out into the West like a cowboy leaving his past in the dust.
Sometimes we need to leave a space between us and the movies we watch. Sometimes people are listening even when we are sure they aren't.
What is this about?
Sometimes you find yourself looking in the mirror and this stranger looks back at you and you wonder that maybe you going to find out that for the last 5 years you been in the alley talking to your mirror self asking him:
"I want you to hit me as hard as you can."
Instead, maybe you find yourself in a chair with a gun under your chin and in the minute before you pull the trigger you wonder if you took your antidepressant that morning.
You can't remember.
This is what depression is like.
This is what my life can be like, sometimes.
And THAT has been life according to Mike
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