A friend egged me to watch Arrival. I remember seeing it’s trailer but that’s it. He goes around to tell me I NEED to watch it. And try to offer the reasons why without giving away spoilers. Which is hard… but with his constant hand tapping, a gesture he does when he’s really excited, I knew I had to relent.
And so I watched it. Taking cues from my friend’s “warning” about some scenes that looked like memories, I had no choice but to eye everything suspiciously. The beginning felt very much familiar, the character’s having one hell of a tough day and as more scenes of a dying daughter come in view, a tug in this viewer’s heart gets pulled (let’s just say that grieving is also familiar). I think anyone would be easily pulled just as I had been if one fails to see how unfailingly isolated the scenes were, how the starting scenes gravitated towards her and her alone. No “condolences” from colleagues at work? It was like throwing a rock at a puddle and seeing no ripple. Now, something is off.
Fast forward: we get to the part where the big reveal is. And the denouement swiftly takes us where the real action is — her making for the run against time, changing people’s minds…
Post-movie feels and I’m walking my way to work. Waiting for the red light so I could cross. My mind reels back to the movie and I thought if I had a special ability, would I use it? In movies where there’s a conflict and that special ability is a requirement fitting to solve that conflict, it’s easy to say ‘yes.’ But at present, where I live and breathe as a plain mortal, I think I ought not to use it. Why? Because for me that same thing I can use to help, I can so easily use to harm others. It’s not difficult to say why or how; I’m a mere mortal, with no omniscience, no gift of foresight, I will never fully grasp the reason why, more so, act on it. This is what makes up for most hero- or origin-story: the conflict that arises from a mortal having immortal powers or special abilities. …
Film: Beauty and the Beast
There’s this scene in the movie Beauty and the Beast, wherever a rose’s petal fall, parts of the castle fall, too. Before I would think that those were just visual allusions to the story’s magical reality. Yet, now I guess I know better. During my father’s episode (he suffered stroke), new patterns of living came to manifest. We started to stay more at his bedside at the hospital. If not, I’d be at our office working and my sister at school. Our house became a silent refuge of fatigued bodies. Otherwise, it was empty. Then came the days were we’re all home, when his hospital stay was over. Bizarre things would happen. Our glass dining table broke into half. That glass was seriously thick and we didn’t do anything to break it. There was just that loud resounding crack. The glass table looked karate-chopped! Then our mint-colored refrigerator. It was one of the oldest appliances that we owned. And it would have been natural to see it break down if not for the dining table’s abrupt end.
So what I’m basically saying is, perhaps, not all visual allusions are definite forms of (exaggerated) effects. When the well-being of the inhabitants of a house start to go down, such gradual ruin could also manifest in the physical realm – outside of the inhabitant’s body. In the Beast’s case, his castle… while for my father’s, the glass dining table and mint-colored refrigerator.