![]() ![]() Perhaps it wouldn't be a bad idea to talk to her while he waited. Proposal? Jane would probably call it a marriage command. He could finally get an answer to his marriage proposal. So he could talk to Jane and find out what had happened between her and Blakeborough after he left. Deprived of all substance, driven back into colour, disembodied through the very glamour of the 'images', the Orient is ready for the spiriting away which the film has in store for it. The device which produces irresponsibility is clear: colouring the world is always a means of denying it (and perhaps one should at this point begin an inquiry into the use of colour in the cinema). And this same Orient which has today become the political centre of the world we see here all flattened, made smooth and gaudily coloured like an old-fashioned postcard. Penetrating the Orient never means more for them than a little trip in a boat, on an azure sea, in an essentially sunny country. Which means that these good people, anthropologists though they are, don't bother much with historical or sociological problems. Our explorers are good fellows, who fill up their leisure time with child-like amusements: they play with their mascot, a little bear (a mascot is indispensable in all expeditions: no film about the polar region is without its tame seal, no documentary on the tropics is without its monkey), or they comically upset a dish of spaghetti on the deck. The film is euphoric, everything in it is easy, innocent. It is a big documentary on 'the East', the pretext of which is some undefined ethnographic expedition, evidently false, incidentally, led by three or four Italians into the Malay archipelago. A film, The Lost Continent, throws a clear light on the current myth of exoticism. What was this banquet, what was this great everlasting feast, to which he had long been drawn, always, ever since childhood, and which he could never join? Every morning the same bright sun rises every morning there is a rainbow over the waterfall every evening the highest snowcapped mountain, there, far away, at the edge of the sky, burns with a crimson flame every little fly that buzzes near him in a hot ray of sunlight participates in this whole chorus: knows its place, loves it, and is happy every little blade of grass grows and is happy! And everything has its path, and everything knows its path, goes with a song and comes back with a song only he knows nothing, understands nothing, neither people nor sounds, a stranger to everything and a castaway. What had tormented him was that he was a total stranger to it all. He remembered now how he had stretched out his arms to that bright, infinite blue and wept. Before him was the shining sky, below him the lake, around him the horizon, bright and infinite, as if it went on forever. Once he went into the mountains on a clear, sunny day, and wandered about for a long time with a tormenting thought that refused to take shape. And whenever you do fall, just remember that spring is just around the corner. Just learn to enjoy the music and never take setbacks too seriously. You will experience happiness, sadness, pain and loss many times. You are like music, a moving composition of vibrations and waves. You never know when you will need help, and help will only remember you if you were good to them when you were UP. You will have sunny days, but also many bad days where you feel like dying. Meaning, you will fall many times, but also spring back up. But do remember, you are a reflection of the universe and every man experiences the seasons within. Every man will fall at some point in their life. Be good to others and always give to others when you can. Do not only remember people when you are down. Never say never unless you can predict the future. Nobody can control the environment, the economy, luck, or the moods of others. We are constantly being changed by things changing around us.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |