One of the best things about New York is that there's always something to see. Case in point, I woke up this morning to see the rather turbulent altercation between a Trini woman (in the all but cliched rollers and house dress) as she denied her husband/boyfriend entrance in their home because they had been out all night. It was a marvel that I could hear every word of their convo from three stories up and a good 30 yards away. I loved the way she held off his attempts to charge past her into the building like a Spartan soldier.
But this little anecdote is not the point. The point is that this is one of the only cities in the country where you can all but guarantee that if there's a special advanced screening of a movie that you can catch it. And when there was such a screening of Hancock last night I had a pretty darn good seat.
I've been excited about this flick for nearly a year now, as it is a teaming up between Will Smith and director Peter Berg (Very Bad Things, The Rundown, Friday Night Lights) who I feel has never gotten his real due. Smith plays an ambivalent alcoholic superhero who is not only disliked by the general Los Angeles public, but who also (for reasons I won't go into as I don't want to spoil the plot) dislikes himself. If you're expecting a Will Smith as Superman movie then you'll leave disappointed, but if you're looking to follow a man's journey of self-discovery, the kind of story that Smith and his manager/partner James Lassiter generally jump at then you'll leave fully satisfied. While the script is choppy in some places, it (like practically every Smith production) delivers. While I'm sure you'll check it out with or without my approval, it was definitely one of the more surprising filmic journeys of the summer. I can say this after running a triple play, with Get Smart (so-so) and a second viewing of Wanted.
It's funny that the things that stuck with me about the movie are elements that 99 percent of moviegoers won't even think about. What I identified with about the film is that it examines the way we as humans view our heroes. Our expectations of them are neverending. But when they falter, though they are (in the real world) as human and fallible as we are, there's this disappointment, a lack of empathy and understanding that can sometimes be more crushing than whatever that given celebrated person is dealing with at the time. There's also the implication that in accepting one's destiny as a hero one also has to be willing to deny one's own happiness in the name of the greater good, which is kind of sad, but very very true. You have to be 'on' all the time. And even when you don't like it you're supposed to just deal with it.
As I boxed up a stuffed Winnie the Pooh that's almost the same size as my goddaughter to send as a gift for her first birthday, I thought about how for the last year I've wanted almost nothing more than I had to be there for first birthday. There was something about being there, with my extended family, celebrating the first year of the life of a child with whom I feel I'm meant to have some kind of a serious connection, mattered to me more than any of the goals I set for myself in 2008, goals of which very few have yet to come true. Instead I'm going home to DC.
It often feels the same as I do rewrites and send out resumes, as I begin the journey of writing a brand new book without knowing how it will ever get to the public, I lean heavily on the idea that I wouldn't be doing it all so fluidly if I wasn't supposed to, even as so many of the signs on the surface say otherwise.
It's the strange coincidences that are killing me. A tarot card fall this morning that makes reference to the story of the tortoise and hare and out of all the seats to take in this nicely air conditioned library I just happen to sit right next to the shelf where there are books on tortoises. When I say that I never want to teach again my big brother asks me to educate daughter about New York for a week or two during her year of home-schooling (So if you seen me in the streets of BK with a blonde blue-eyed eight year-old know that there's a reasonable explanation). Seychelles, South Africa and Ireland, pop up in my dream life when I had made no plans of visiting any of them.
Somewhere along this road for me there will be a win for me, a real one, not just the monthly miracle of me making the rent. I wrote a letter to myself a few months ago that I will not read again until next Spring, when I will hopefully be in a much different place. But I guess the fact that I've made it for this long, that I've had as much of an impact as I have on a relatively large number of folks is miracle enough. Contrary to what the Pilgrims believed, some of the choices do get made for you, which I always prefer to wasting a life not knowing what to choose. Out.
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