One of These Things is Not Like the Others

Two movies in one week! At the theatre, I mean. Ah, this is the life. The only things missing are a few nights out at the ballet, saving a couple more for a musical or two. A thumbnail sketch of my perfect life.

But I digress. My cousin emailed me this morning to let me know she'd seen "Amazing Grace", starring a fave of mine, Welsh actor Ioan Gruffudd. Plus a marvellous array of other actors I love: Brits Albert Finney and Rufus Sewell, and Irish actors Michael Gambon and Ciaran Hinds. It's directed by Michael Apted, whom I admire for his "7 Up" series of films ( "14 Up" - "42 Up" ), plus several episodes of HBO's "Rome". My cousin encouraged me to see it, probably fearing that it would leave soon. Time flies and it'll be out on DVD, but I cleared my schedule for the evening, hopped on the bus after work and caught the 6:40 show.

"Amazing Grace" follows the political crusade in the English House of Commons to defeat the slave trade. Ioan Gruffudd plays William Wilberforce, the Member of Parliament for Hull in Yorkshire who kept bringing his bill before the House for 18 years until it was finally passed in 1807.

Like all visionaries, Wilberforce didn't do 'normal' very well. He collected stray people and animals, preferred having chats with God out on the grounds of his well-appointed country house, spoke to his butler like an equal and felt personally responsible to end one of the economic cornerstones of the British Empire.

Though obviously on his own passionate crusade, Wilberforce had a rather significant figure in his early life - his spiritual counsellor was the cleric John Newton, who wrote the very personal hymn "Amazing Grace". Newton was an ex-ship's master whose cargos were the slave trade in its most human form.

In Joseph Campbell's Hero's Journey, a wise man figure often points the hero onto the path he must take. But Newton wasn't written into the plot by a writer. He was placed into Wilberforce's life by a Divine Hand. Both amazing and humbling when you think about it.

Of course, Wilberforce wasn't just any English land owner. He was the childhood friend of Pitt the Younger, soon to be Prime Minister (guide with a magical key.) Wilberforce held the privilege of sitting in parliament (the unfamiliar world, since he doesn't act like most others of his ruling class.) He has colitis and subsequent addiction to laudenum (temptation) to pull him away from his goal.

The Dark Moment comes when revolution takes France, war breaks out, and his friend the prime minister must distance himself from seditious Wilberforce. How easy it is to throw our characters into that Black Moment. How horrible to actually live through it. Especially if you lived at the end of the 18th century and the Hero's Journey is still 150 years away from publication.

We ultimately know that slavery ends, so the audience begins the film with the knowledge that we're watching an authentic hero. But I couldn't help thinking many times over the course of the film how easily Wilberforce's life fit into Joseph Campbell's parameters.

If a person could recognize all the signposts of the Hero's Journey in his or her own life, would it make all the pain and suffering any easier to bear? Would being perpetually out of step with one's fellows be easier to tolerate if that meant it was the hero's persona?

Watching "Amazing Grace" tonight left me thinking about all of the real-life Wilberforce's who are born to parents who dream of contentment and joy for their little ones. If parents knew ahead of time that their child was fated to the Hero's Journey, the urge to spare him or her from such a torturous route might leave the world with a lot less heros.

I guess that's why we're only given the story of our lives one day at a time.

I Can't Help Myself

I went to see "Grindhouse" last night with my husband, because I'm the sort of person that thinks a one-legged go-go dancer with a machine gun for a prosthetic is awfully funny. I'm also a huge fan of Robert Rodriguez's "Sin City" and Quentin Tarantino's "Kill Bill Volumes I & II". How can I resist a double bill from those two fellers?

Of course, my husband is the proud owner of books like THE PYSCHOTRONIC VIDEO GUIDE by Michael J. Weldon, essentially a primer on any film considered to be grindhouse material. Plus my husband used to go to a few grindhouse theatres in Toronto in the early 80's to take in his favorite guilty pleasures, like "Convoy" with Kris Kristofferson and Ali MacGraw, "Dirty Mary, Crazy Larry" with Peter Fonda and Susan George, and "Thunderbolt and Lightfoot" with Clint Eastwood and Jeff Bridges, to name a few. Outside on the marquee were signs like "Four Great Movies For One Great Price!" and shows ran continuously from 8:30 in the morning to 4 am, the tail end of the following night. Inside he once watched a patron destroy the seats for no apparent reason. Meanwhile the rest of the audience carried on watching the movie.

Since my husband and I met each other while working as ushers at the old Runnymede Theatre in Toronto's west end, we found the little "Grindhouse" touches like the skipping and repeating dialogue as the 'reels' changed were priceless.

I won't get too specific in case anyone else ventures out to see it, but I have to admit I liked the second flick, Tarantino's "Death Proof" the best. While overtly referencing films like "White Line Fever" with Jan Michael Vincent, and "Vanishing Point" with Barry Newman and Cleavon Little, as well as featuring an identical 1970 white Dodge Challenger, Tarantino subtley builds his story arc over Hitchcock's classic "Psycho" format. A nice touch for cinephiles.

Also, I really enjoyed Kurt Russell's performance in "Death Proof". Not for people who can be disturbed by visual images that come without warning. Generally I can see those moments coming, but there were a few images that arrived onscreen without my violence-sixth-sense registering an in-the-next-second appearance.

However, Kurt Russell makes his Stuntman Mike character charming and flirtatious enough to have the women in the film willing to fall for him, while keeping the sinister edge apparent to the moviegoer. I think he did a kick-ass job.

Two beautiful things about Kurt Russell I've always admired - his lovely voice, and those I've-got-a-secret twinkly blue eyes. Great choice for Stuntman Mike, Mr. Tarantino.

Excerpt From 'Brotherhood of Blood'

Since I've been editing my WIP this long weekend, I decided to go for it and post an excerpt.

This story takes place in Wales in 577AD. My hero Peredur has been made into a specialized vampire. In this scene he's being put through one of a series of trials to get him accustomed to his new state of being. The 'cousins' referred to are traditional vampires.

Excerpt -

The next lesson was very straightforward. Peredur was led into the sunlight the following day until he passed out.

He came back to his senses under Wladyslaw’s watchful eye. Peredur fought the urge to sit up as would be expected in the presence of a commander in his old life.

Equal brethren. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply.

“Don’t hurry it,” the szlachcic said. [note:a dark age Polish prince]

The water sickness had been very different from the sun sickness. He lay back on the cavern floor, safe within its cool earthiness. He could actually feel the presence of the minerals in the ground beneath him, and knew somehow that the earth already acted as a tonic for him.

Where the water had worked upon his muscles and skin, making any movement impossible, the sun had worked upon his head and the blood within his veins, heating them both. He could not get any thoughts to settle in his mind, and his blood had pumped too fast until he lost consciousness. All in a much swifter manner than the water sickness.

Even now he felt the bleary haze of fever. He opened his eyes and fought to focus them.

Wladyslaw regarded Peredur with wary hope. This former szlachcic was Peredur’s fourth test. His body felt runny like the upturned contents of someone’s stomach. Peredur forced himself to focus on the szlachcic’s face.

He thought of the blood that would revive him out of the stupor. Reading his thought, Wladyslaw explained, “I cannot offer you sustenance, brother.”

He placed a hand on Peredur’s shoulder. “This feeling is what you must experience. You will learn to cope with it in time.”

Peredur closed his eyes against this unwelcome news.

“I have the unhappy task of guiding you through this transition, Peredur.”

He opened his eyes again, urging himself to see this brother closely.

“Unhappy?” he managed to ask.

Wladyslaw looked off into the distance. “Our cousins know this sickness for themselves and will use it against you. Men will too, if they hunt us.”

Peredur fought against a wave of illness, keeping his attention on the szlachcic. “How long was I in the sun?”

“A few moments only, no more.”

“Longer would be the end,” he noted, not wanting to imagine it.

“And not very much longer,” Wladyslaw verified. “If you find yourself in the light, you must act quickly or perish.”

Peredur nodded.

“Sit up,” Wladyslaw said, his voice less gentle than it had been.

Peredur looked hard into the szlachcic’s face. Unhappy task. But sitting was impossible.

“Up,” Wladyslaw commanded.

Peredur responded as he had always done on the battlefield. He gathered strength where there had been none and rose halfway.

He collapsed. If he could have done, he would have vomited, but that too seemed to be a relic of his former life. It didn’t stop the debilitating queasiness from holding him in its grasp.

“If our cousins mean to finish you, they will succeed with such feeble effort.” Peredur heard the same tone in his princely brother’s voice as his swordmaster had once used. Was this something the other brethren had gone through? They would not show him up.

Peredur pushed himself up on his elbows with enormous effort. Panting, he rolled onto his side and pushed all the way up to a sitting position. He trembled with it, the detestable weakness, the queasiness. But he looked Wladyslaw in the eye.

The szlachcic’s arm shot forward and his hand cuffed Peredur in the head. He swayed forward, then fell sideways.

Peredur rolled to keep his eye on Wladyslaw in case more blows should follow. His head swam and he felt the hideous weakness swirl in his veins.

Wladyslaw rose to his feet. Peredur pushed back, trying to keep a distance between himself and the szlachcic. The sickness not only weakened him, it disoriented. Try as he might to rise and meet his brother the cavern seemed to tilt.

“Still yourself,” Wladyslaw said, giving Peredur a stout kick that rolled him some distance.

Peredur scrambled to make his arms and legs move, noting with shock how little that kick had actually hurt. The force of it had punted him like a child’s kicking bladder. Still yourself. He’d best make a move and soon.

Too late - Wladyslaw scooped him up and slammed him up against the cavern wall. The vampire pressed his face close to Peredur’s.

“If I had so desired, you would have died the true death, my brother.”

Panting, Peredur sagged in Wladyslaw’s grasp, unable to stop the swirling inside him. At this point, a part of him didn’t care whether one of these cousins came at him. If only the swaying cavern would stop.

“Still yourself,” Wladyslaw whispered near Peredur’s ear. He was so close, it seemed he held up Peredur by his mere presence.

What did he mean by ‘still yourself?’ Wladyslaw seemed so solid while his own insides spun. He focused on that solidness until it seemed he could feel the other vampire’s heart beat. Peredur blinked. His vision cleared.

He could feel the szlachcic’s steady heart.

Just as he sought his brother’s gaze, to thank him for lending him this stillness, Wladyslaw backed away a pace. Immediately the swirling resumed. Peredur went limp. Only Wladyslaw’s grasp of Peredur’s arms kept him from sliding to the cavern floor.

“Listen to your own stillness,” Wladyslaw prompted.

Peredur closed his eyes and listened for his own heart beat. He heard its erratic drumming and felt the floor tip.

But he felt Wladyslaw’s hands pinning him securely. He forced himself to locate the other vampire’s heart beat through those hands. There it was.

So much slower than a man’s heartbeat. But rhythmic just the same. Beneath Wladyslaw’s strong beat was his own that skipped or disappeared entirely.

The szlachcic left off clipping him in the head. Peredur took advantage of this lull and focused as clearly as he could on his heart beat. He listened until his flitting beats caught up to Wladyslaw’s. As his pulse settled down, the cavern seemed less likely to rock as though they were at sea.

Opening his eyes, he saw the szlachcic staring at him curiously. Peredur knew that Wladyslaw could feel his own steadily growing stillness, just as he could feel the other’s heart beat.

As if transfixed by Peredur, the szlachcic stayed as he was, holding his brother against the cave even when they both knew he was no longer in danger of falling. Peredur felt excitement radiating toward him from his brother.

At last, Wladyslaw released him and backed away. Peredur kept his feet.

An idea came to him, but he suspected that he was abnormally connected to the szlachcic just now. Even as he saw recognition dawn in his brother’s eyes, Peredur’s fist flew out and knocked Wladyslaw nearly flat.

The szlachcic righted himself and stood before Peredur with a disarming grin.

“Outstanding,” he said simply.

Did I Ever Tell You The One About...

I was checking out a number of blogs today when I popped onto 'Julie Says':

http://juliescott.blogspot.com/

She told a highly amusing tale and wanted to hear stories from other bloggers. That got me thinking back to a morning not so long ago - well, eighteen years ago - when I was unhappily working for a chartered accounting firm in Toronto. I'd been with the company for a few days, had no prior experience as a receptionist and was soon to leave it for the far more comfortable world of live theatre. Ushering, to be exact. Not that different from being a receptionist except there was no phone involved (those who know me find my phone phobia amusing.) Also, my theatre work day started at the more reasonable hour of 6 pm, rather than the ungodly office hours of 8 am - 4 pm. (shudder)

But back at the drafty reception area, which had the warmth of a medieval castle minus the tapestries, I stoically faced the switchboard. In those youthful days I thought there was nothing at which I couldn't excel. I didn't appreciate then that it would take surviving all the darkest days of the next twenty years to really prepare me for a position on the front desk.

Mornings at this office were fairly busy on the switchboard as the chartered accountants called in from whichever client's office they happened to be working that day. Some of my calls were from our own CA's, some from the public. I answered the calls in quick succession:

"Good morning, Shwartz Levitsky Feldman, can I help you?...One moment please." Put the caller on hold. Tranfer if the CA was in the office. This was before voice mail was a big thing.

In the middle of this I'd have the CA's calling for the head honchos. "Can you hold please?" Then I'd put them through if Schwartz, Levitsky or Feldman were in.

One morning when I still wasn't quite awake - sometime before noon - I had a CA that I put on hold while I answered a few other outside calls. When I got back to him, I said in my lovely professional receptionist voice, "Schwartz Levitsky Feldman, can I hold you?"

Luckily, this only solicited a giggle from our accountant. But it convinced me that I'd better take the ushering job before I said something similar to one of the partners. That, and the fist fight that erupted in the board room over a hostile takeover while I cheerily answered more calls.

Funny story, anyone?

Doing Things I've Longed to Do

I was able to link up some fellow bloggers this afternoon at work, while I sat at reception. My home computer is too slow to process linking anything to my blog, which has been frustrating to say the least. But I had to cover reception this afternoon, which gave me all the time I needed to post links on the much quicker work PC.

I also added links to some of my favorite artists. Being a visual person, I'm very attracted to imagery. I get a lot of inspiration from the artists I've linked to my blog. I was talking a little while ago to one of my critique partners about what we do to get in the right zone for writing. She has to be immersed in reading or she can't get into the right flow. For me it has to be watching movies. I need to see my time period, or atmosphere, or setting, or emotional tone playing out in front of me, and then I get into my zone. I also usually have some sort of collage to do with my current story laying out near my monitor.

So today's layout expansion for my blog has been very exciting. On top of that was the thrill of finally joining GerardButler.net as a member, after checking the site out as a lurker for two years. I had to pick out a username and another member name, submit it for approval and check my email for the yea-or-nay.

The approval was waiting there in my inbox - oh, joy! I actually posted a user comment on "300". What an intense thrill! When you've been visiting a site regularly but not joining because you only have internet access at work, the luxury of finally doing these things from home is sublime.

The Return of Duffman

For quite some time now, I've been aware that I'm never alone. Western society acknowledges guardian angels and I figure this presence is likely my guardian spirit. It speaks to me often through light symbols, but can get my attention in many creative ways.

A common 'conversation' goes as follows: I'll be walking my dog at night. Everything is gorgeous and I'm feeling connected to the world around me. I'll be deep in thought. Suddenly the streetlamp directly above me turns on. One second before it had been off, but I hadn't noticed. After a delighted smile lights my face, it turns off. Over time I've started to call this being Blinky.

During a visit to a psychic two years ago, she lit a candle for the session. It wasn't long before Blinky was with us. The candle flame lengthened, fluttered, split into two flames on one wick, waved back and forth and so on, which the psychic and I both watched, both knowing what was going on without having to mention it to the other. The flame always reacted to whatever subject matter was being discussed. By the end of the session, there was a thin shield of wax behind the flame, left over from having burnt down. She pointed it out and said it meant I had protection. That felt good, as I always feel safe in the presence of this spirit.

Fast forward to this past year, as my dad was diagnosed and treated for the cancer which recently ended his life. My husband special-ordered an alarm clock shaped like the interior of Moe's Tavern from "The Simpson's". At the bar sit Homer and Barney. Moe and Duffman stand in front of it. Each character says several lines, which act as the alarm. You can simply have fun and press the button on the bar to listen to each character speak. You can't control who speaks, however. To set the alarm for a particular character, you switch the figure's position on the clock. Duffman is currently in the alarm position. If the alarm goes off, he'll repeat his phrase until it's shut off. Once upon a time we had it set to Duffman saying, "I've got a bottomless mug of new Duff Extra Cold for Barney Gumble!" But that got a little much to bear at 6 am, so we turned off the alarm and now use the Batman alarm clock, which simply beeps with Justice League intensity.

However, it seems that Blinky was quite taken with the Simpson's alarm clock. While my husband often listened to all of my tales of encounters with Blinky, they usually happened when I was alone with Xena, our dog. One night the turned-off alarm clock burst forth with "Duffman!" That's one of the phrases available, but not the one we had been using. My husband and I had been quite down that evening, thinking about what was to come for my dad. All of a sudden, the happy outburst from the Duff beer spokesman. As soon as it started, I smiled, knowing right away that it was Blinky trying to lighten the mood, even though it had never used sound before. But my husband was taken by surprise, turned toward the clock and gave a yelp. My God, how we laughed! We still make fun of it now as a private joke.

After that first time, we've been "Duffman"-ed quite a lot. Never when we expect it, but always when we need a cheer up. Like last night, after my sister and I spent the evening with my step mom. She's very distraught, grieving my dad with every fibre. My sister found it hard to leave her in such pain. I had to use all of my counselling skills to help my step mom and later I tried to calm my sister's worries.

However, during the visit my step mom did tell us that the light in front of her door in the apartment corridor flickered for three days after Dad first passed away. And she wondered if we'd noticed how the candle next to Dad's urn upon the altar flickered, waved, fluttered and danced throughout the funeral mass, while five other candle flames also on the altar burned steady and still. My sister and I exchanged knowing glances.

When I got home, I had the lucky news that Gerry Butler was about to be on Jay Leno. I got my tape ready, my husband got home from his late shift at Blockbuster, and we watched Gerry till after 1 am.

I got into bed as it headed for 2 am. A long day, a longer night, a surprise joy at the end. I crossed myself and started to pray. At that very moment, in the dark that had just settled over the apartment, we heard "Duffman!"

I giggled, my husband laughed, I said "Hi!" and we settled into a contented sleep.

"300" - Third Time's the Charm

In service to my need to shore up my inner Spartan, I dragged myself to another showing of "300". Okay, I know, meeting excitedly with my husband after work to catch the 6:40 show can hardly be called 'dragging.' And it's not as difficult to settle in to watch the chiseled bodies of the Spartans when my husband is seeing it for the third time, as well.

SPOILER ALERT

Favourite moments I can't wait to watch over and over when we get the DVD:

1 - the slo-mo shot where the Persian messengers ride over the hill toward Sparta and the camera tracks alongside them

2 - when Leonidas(Gerry Butler) looks back over his shoulder at his queen to get her opinion on a bit of sword-point diplomacy

3 - when a disgruntled Leonidas waits for the oracle to speak (looks so much like my vampire character in that shot)

4 - when Leonidas is saying goodbye to his queen and calls her 'my lady'. My heart shivers when those lovely words roll past those lips in that delicious voice.

5 - when Leonidas stands with his shield looking out upon the Persian ships tossed by the storm, rain pelting him and his eyes so piercing and magnetic. (Another shot where he looks exactly like my vampire character.)

6 - when the Spartans are just about to engage the Persians at the Hot Gates. We haven't seen them fight yet. The Persian leader says, "Spartans, lay down your weapons!" The front Spartan line takes its position, crouched with shields and spears ready. Leonidas replies, "Persians, come and get them!" You just want the Persians to hurry and rush the Spartan line so we can revel in the beauty of the Greek phalanx "in one inpenetrable unit."

7 - once the battle gets going, there's a long take which is made longer by slo-mo and stop/start freeze framing that follows Leonidas as he plows through twenty or so Persians. If you know my love of ballet, you'll understand the pure poetry of watching that perfectly sculpted body stretching, turning, ducking, deflecting, stabbing and slashing his way through the onslaught of the enemy.

8 - when the Persians let fly with the rain of arrows, the Spartans take cover under their shields. All very tense, then the camera lingers on the shields coated in arrow shafts like a barren forest. Leonidas stands, holding his shield in one hand, swipes his sword with the other and cuts the arrows free, defiance radiating from his mane-like plumed helmet. Oh God, it's making my heart swell right now!

9 - this one actually makes my stomach feel like it's taken a punch. Leonidas kneels before his enemy at one point. If there's something that hurts to see, it's that king kneeling before anyone.

10 - I love the shot where Leonidas has raised his injured body back to its feet so that he can meet death with his arms outstretched in embrace. What a way to go!

Sigh. Can't wait till the next time!