A movie I saw . . .

~ patponderslife ~ Leave a comment

I have seen but one of the Academy Awards nominees this year and, oddly, it’s Anora. If you’re easilly offended by graphic sexual content or strong language, don’t bother. I’m not, exactly (offended easily, that is), but I don’t love it, and sometimes I feel as if it’s there for shock value. Not with this film. It’s a portrait of an event in the life of an exotic dancer/stripper/prostitute, something I have zero experience with, and (I’ll admit it) before I saw the movie, little curiosity about. Okay, so not entirely true. Ages ago, I and a couple of other gals took my sister-in-law to a male strip show for her fortieth birthday because that’s where she wanted to go. We were probably a little embarassed and trying not to show it. We drank and laughed and squealed and put dollar bills (I said it was a long time ago, okay?) into the g-strings of the sweaty, smiling guys dancing on stage. I think my sister-in-law had fun, or at least she wasn’t disappointed, and that was the point, but I never repeated the experience, and me, being me, I ended up thinking about those guys and wondering how many of them were okay with what they were doing and how they felt and what they thought about those silly women in the audience. I’m burdened/gifted with an abundance of empathy, so I often wonder about stuff like that.

But I digress.

Back to the movie: One night Anora “entertains” Ivan, a young man who likes her enough to ask her to be exclusive with him for a week, which she agrees to for $1,500. It’s a week of perfunctory sex (but lots of it), parties with many anonymous hanger-ons, mountains of drugs, loud music, more sex, most of it at the absurdly oppulent mansion of this manchild’s parents who are Russian oligarchs. Impulsively, Ivan asks Anora to marry him. He says it’s so he can stay in the USA and won’t have to return to Russia. Once she sees that he means it, she agrees. We can see hope in her eyes. We can see that she warms to the idea of an escape from her life with this proposal, something we have the sinking feeling will never happen. Sure enough, when Mommy and Daddy find out, they … well, no need to spoil it for you, if by any remote chance you ever see the film.

The ending of the movie is powerful. Stunning, even. And it gave me something to ponder. To that end, I looked up what had been said about it, and one of the movie critics whose job it is to interpret works of art caught my eye. I’ll degress one more time and say lots of people who watch Anora won’t agree about the label “art,” and I respect that but don’t have a desire or any credentials to debate it. Anyway, his thesis in my words is this: (more or less) the minions—us, I assume–are shuffling along behind and catering to the unpredictable needs and wants of the rich and powerful while they don’t see us, which serves to demonstrate the growing reality of inequality and shows us with painful clarity that we can never be them and that they will never see us. The gap is huge.

He goes on, but even though I saw what he was saying, I couldn’t help but relate to–of all people–the parents. Sure it was easy to see that Anora’s life was empty and that she hoped beyond hope that she could get lucky and change it, but the odds weren’t in her favor. She was one of the minions, after all. But at one point she yelled (there’s lots of yelling) at Ivan that he hated his parents. Something so obviously true smacked me in the face with its honesty. I thought, How terrible to be hated by your child. It must be the cruelest blow of all. When would I ever have a chance to use that empathy of mine to relate to a person so wealthy as to be in the multiple mansions, private jets, people following them around wating to do their bidding rich? Ridiculous wealth. We might as well live on different planets.

Still, they were parents, right? They’d given and given and indulged this feckless child who had never done anything in his life to make them anything but worried, perplexed, and exasperated. They’d bailed him out countless times. There was nothing they wouldn’t do for him, and he hated them for it. Why? Because what all this gifting proved to him was that his parents didn’t believe in him. They had no faith that he could do anything or be anything if tested by the everyday standards that the minions were tested. His parents had failed him and knew it but didn’t know how to fix it except to throw more money at him. He’s their child and he hates them.

What parent doesn’t worry that they will fail/are failing/have failed their child? Well, okay, there surely are some, but I’m pretty sure I’ve tapped into a common feeling shared by rich and poor alike. By people from different cultures, different ethnicity, different in multiple ways. People (parents, anyway) who might disagree about abandoning daylight savings time, consuming meat products, or even Donald Trump, I bet would agree that they worry about whether they are good parents.

There were lots of universal themes in Anora–some I understood at an intellectual level, some I probably missed–but that one was easy for me. I didn’t like either of Ivan’s parents, but I felt bad for them. Who wouldn’t?

The Narrowing Road

~ patponderslife ~ 3 Comments

Amazingly, it’s 2025. A few months into this year will find me half-way through my eighties. And I didn’t get here alone. Even at this advanced age, some of my cherished friends entered the world the same year I did—too early to be baby boomers, but not by much.
When we began our journey, the road ahead of us was wide and seemingly endless. Some roads seemed straight ahead and obvious, while others veered off in one direction or another. Some were popular and beckoning. Others were winding and mysterious, with their own kind of appeal. Some roads were well lighted, others deep in shadow. Many contained potholes and barriers that needed to be dealt with. Some of us speak of difficult journeys; some admit to having it easy. Some went with the traffic, others against it. Some of us gladly left familiar behind, while others stuck around. Most of us were accompanied by companions—some for a little while, others for a very long time.
Now, in our eighty-fifth year, our roads are narrowing. We’ve been joined by people we care about—some related to us and some not. If we’re lucky, some of our friends are younger than we are, but some are our age. A few of us have loved ones who are infirm and need our help. Some of us need help ourselves. We’ve looked back at our individual journeys, and we’ve made peace with the choices we made. Some of those choices offered unexpected rewards, and memories of them bring smiles to our aging faces. Some we’ve come to accept as “not our best moments,” but we’re very far past blame and regret by now.
We’re aware that the vessel that brought us on our journey does not define us. The vessel is mostly still upright, and we’re grateful for that, but it’s not always at its best, and it doesn’t exactly jibe with our concept of ourselves. Some of our bodies seem to have been genetically destined and/or environmentally influenced to be in better working order than others. We compare notes on what still works and what doesn’t. For all of us, there are ailments, conditions, frailties, and sometimes injuries. Most of us are shocked, still, by mirrors. We make old-person noises and chide ourselves. We don’t hurry anymore. We fear falls, mostly because we’re not sure we’ll be able to get back up. Sadly, those fears are a reminder about that narrowing road.
But here’s the thing. We’re okay. Our core values are intact. We know ourselves to be fair-minded and compassionate toward others—all others. We know the difference between right and wrong. We know cruelty when we see it, as well as bombast, ugliness, and finger-pointing. We can tell the difference between the truth and lies. We know what we stand for and what we stand against. We’ve become who we are because of the people we encountered, the experiences we had, and the choices we made as we journeyed down our road.
The one that’s irrevocably narrowing.