(UPDATED) They always come back
The Deer Hunter, an ode to failure, the sound of hope and a new playlist on repeat.
It’s that time! I’m happy you’re here. Alright! Friday public post here. we. go
Film Rec:
The Deer Hunter (1978) Dir. Michael Cimino
I’d never seen The Deer Hunter before last week. Not in its entirety anyway. I had seen the infamous “Russian Roulette scene” in college though. Some guy I thought was amazing (at the time), played it for me right after he’d mumbled through a painful rendition of “Blackbird” on his acoustic guitar. I think, in his mind, perhaps sharing one of the most intense and gut-wrenching scenes in cinematic history - after singing at me for an extended period of time - had something to do with him proving that he knew “good acting.” Maybe this was him attempting to prove he had “taste.” Did he hope I’d magically transfer the “good acting” onscreen over to him and his performance of that Beatles classic that held me hostage for far too long? Did he think the scene would rock me to my core in such a way that my clothes would spontaneously fly off? Maybe! Who knows?! What I do know is that my jacket stayed zipped and after that fateful night, I never saw him again.
Anyway, I finally watched The Deer Hunter, in its entirety last week.
When the film ended I cried so hard that I had I turn the lights back on. After the credits rolled, I watched reruns of “The Office,” for an hour.
I mean, The Deer Hunter. What. A. Film.
The performances! The direction! The structure! The script!
I was in awe. And when I think about it, I’m still moved. The film shot right through me.
I knew I was headed for trouble when the whole first act was a celebration. The film starts with a birth of sorts, a literal wedding - Russian Orthodox style - so lavish it’s dizzying. There are numerous rituals and customs and dances and processions. Then there’s partying and more dancing! Everyone’s drunk and disorderly and the scenes feel like they’re unfolding in front of you in real time. We follow a tight-knit group of guys, Michael (Robert De Niro), Stanley (John Cazale), Nick (Christopher Walken), and Steven (John Savage) loving all over each other and celebrating together. Steven (John Savage) their buddy is getting married and it’s time to celebrate before they’re all shipped off to war.
Towards the end of the first act, there’s a scene when the whole gang of drunken buffoons go deer hunting in their wedding attire. On their way to hunt the guys mess with one of their buddies when he gets out of the car to take a leak. The guys pretend to leave him in the middle of nowhere while he’s taking a piss. They speed off down the road without him. They pretend to leave him. They eventually come back for him. Then they do it again. But they always come back for him. They always come back…
Of course, the power and surprising depth of this scene didn’t hit me until the end of the film.
Watch it here.
Read the screenplay here.
What I’m listening to
A new playlist I’ve been vibing to and hope you enjoy too:
A poem, as promised
Two actually. I like to imagine Keats and Dickinson writing the following poems to each other the way people write letters or send emails. It’s fun to imagine them communicating with each other through their work.
John Keats, ‘To Hope’.
When by my solitary hearth I sit,
When no fair dreams before my ‘mind’s eye’ flit,
And the bare heath of life presents no bloom;
Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed,
And wave thy silver pinions o’er my head …
Keats reminds me of Romeo. He has a flare for the dramatic. He can sound flowery and tortured, like an emo teen, but there’s always something so ineffably painful and pleasurable about his poems. It makes them true. I love how, in this poem, Keats is addressing hope directly, as one would a mentor, an idol, or a pop diva they’re appealing to. He’s calling hope in, summoning hope’s “ethereal balm” and its silver “pinions,” its feathers/wings.
Keats leaves us with both the image and the sound of silver wings waving around his and consequently our head.
What does a silver wing waving sound like to you?
Emily Dickinson, ‘I took my Power in my Hand’.
I took my Power in my Hand —
And went against the World —
’Twas not so much as David — had —
But I — was twice as bold —I aimed my Pebble — but Myself
Was all the one that fell —
Was it Goliath — was too large —
Or was myself — too small?
I love that Dickinson’s poem is an ode to failure. She likens herself to Goliath but “twice as bold.” Damn. She’s brave. Also, how arrogant! Or wait, it’s not arrogant it’s just true! And she knows it so she says it. With no shame or self deprecation. How refreshing. But then the turn comes. She aims her pebble, ready to knock Goliath off track but she in fact is the one who falls and cannot sort out whether it was because Goliath was too big or because she herself was too small. She only knows that when she took power and “went against the world” she failed. Even in her failure though the poem feels to me like a teaching about resilience and growth which, in my mind, is success.
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