Carbon Copy

Something I'm Learning, Slowly

Last summer I took a film class, mainly to keep my stipend coming through those long summer months so I didn't have to get a job. It was a lazy summer. I read a lot (for fun, not class), watched two episodes of "What I Like About You" every afternoon, and twice a week I would attend this class for three hours, most of which would be spent watching the movie in class and then our professor would ask questions. I knew all I had to say was that it reminded me of Foucault, without having to explain what I meant because merely mentioning Foucault (and maybe something about the panopticon) was enough. Sometimes I think I cheated myself out of my education, but it was heavenly to go to my air-conditioned classroom and just watch good movies every Tuesday and Thursday.

I ended up writing my final paper on Fellini's 8 1/2, which meant that I watched it a lot. I never got tired of it. I was thinking about it tonight while driving on the freeway to Kris's house. Actually, I was thinking about something else that I'm learning lately, and Guido's struggle came to mind. I have this tendency towards exclusion. A kind of all or nothing attitude. I remember last Christmas going for a walk around the neighborhood. It was twilight, so a lot of homes had lights on inside but hadn't yet shut their blinds. Strolling along, I could see glimpses into these other lives and it completely overwhelmed me because I knew that I could never know these people. They had all these memories, experiences, emotions, relationships, etc. that I could never be a part of. My immediate desire was to then shut them all out. Pretend they don't exist. If I can't know everything about them, I don't want to know anything.

Guido asks Claudia toward the end of the film, "Could you walk out on everything and start life all over again? Could you choose one single thing, and stick faithfully with it? Could you make it the one thing that gives your life meaning... just because you believe in it? Could you do that?"

Claudia turns the question back on him, "Could you?"

And of course Guido, always the confessional artist, lives through his characters and so answers from the point of view of his character. "No, the character I'm thinking of couldn't. He wants to possess and devour everything. He can't pass up anything. He's afraid he'll miss something. He's dying, drained of blood. "

I should probably have said earlier a little bit about the plot of 8 1/2. Guido Anselmi, a film director, has a producer, a crew, and several actresses signed on to tell his story. However, the story is yet to be written. In fact, it is still being developed, and Guido revises aspects of the story throughout the film, adding memories as they come to him and adapting the role of characters like Claudia to reflect his changes. People ask him what his film is about, and he tells each of them a different story. Really, though, he says he has "something so simple to say," but he lacks the ability to do so. Each memory, each person in his life plays a part, and so he cannot assign them roles and give direction because they continually blend into each other; Saraghina, the dancing woman of his youth, becomes Carla, the mistress of his adulthood. The question becomes do you search for salvation in one person? Can one thing give your life meaning? Guido ultimately rejects that idea and resolves his dilemma by including everyone in his film. The final scene (gratefully found on YouTube - that place has everything!), shows all the characters together, holding hands. The clip below doesn't have subtitles, but when Carla (the mistress) comes to speak to him, she says, "You know, I understand what you are trying to say. You're trying to say that you can't do without us."

So as I was driving tonight, I was thinking about what it means when someone cares for you. And somehow I fall into my same trap of thinking all or nothing. Care for me and care for no one else. Or if I care for you, I can't care for anyone else. I want to box things up in a neatly wrapped package. But this scene at the end, with everyone holding hands and moving together reminded me of how unsatisfactory that inclination is. We all become a part of each other's lives. The roles blend at times. The characters shift, but we're all important. We're all part of the story.