There are some movies you watch and then forget.  There are some movies that you love for a while and then outgrow.  There are a very few that you watch, rewatch, and then come back to years later and find it still has things to teach you.

My Life as a Dog is one of those rare films.  I started this blog four years ago with a desire to use film as a way of processing and expressing the unarticulated feelings inside of me.  Thanks to some unexpected plot-twists in my own life, the pieces inside of me ended up spilling out in a much different way than I had intended.  In the end, though, it was all good.  I went on my own coming-of-age epic (albeit later in life than most of the protagonists in my favorite films) and ended up a happier, more self-sustaining person.

My journey sometimes resembled Ingemar's journey.  Like him, I had a lot of unexpressed guilt and a sense of overwhelming responsibility about things that I could not possibly have controlled.  In the movie, his desire to get back his dog (now dead) symbolized his desire to return to the world of simple childhood where his sense of safety and self-worth was based on outside forces.  When these forces let him down (his dog died, his mother died) he blamed himself and tried to run away from himself -- ultimately choosing to act like a dog rather than face the world (MY life as a dog, therefore, is a double meaning: both that the poor boy is pushed around like a stray as well as his attempts to avoid the intracies of the adult human world).  In the end -- and this is something I did not understand about the movie when I began this blog -- he discovers that he is worthy of love, but that he must open himself to finding that love rather than expecting it to come to him.  The adult world is harsher than the world of children because we must seek out those who will care about us rather than waiting for them to seek us out.  It is also better because we are not slaves to the whims and destinies of other souls for our own happiness.  So Ingemar is able to open himself to a world of new friendships and lovers that he had held at arms length while he waited to get back to his forever lost old life.

And its time for me to move on.  This blog has served me well as a place to exlore my new sense of self, but there comes a time to break off some ties.  Like Ingemar, I'm done waiting for my old life to somehow get back on track.  Its not going to happen, and I don't want it to.  Its not who I am anymore.  And, as much as I've loved this blog, the ties to the old world are too strong.  Half of the visitors here are people who never knew the old me.  But the other half are old real-life friends from long ago, friends who I've probably thrown for a loop by some of the things I've discovered about myself.  They are almost like ghosts: I see their footprints, they come to the site, read my latest confessions, and then leave without ever making a sound.  I used to wonder what they think of me, why did they keep reading if they didn't want to talk to me?  I would try to re-establish contact, but to no avail.  But now I know I need to just move on.  I can't live half in a ghost world of fading friendships, especially when I know that even now seeing those footprints on my page sometimes keeps me from being as honest as I want.  Most of the time, I am done with being judged by people who have never bothered to get inside my mind.  But in my weaker moments I still let their imagined condemnation of me get in the way of exploring who I am. 

So I'm casting off the past, starting anew.  I'm probably throwing out some good with the bad, but sometimes its better to cut off too much than too little.  There is no one I don't want to talk to.  If anyone, new friend or old relation, wants to talk to me I'm happy to hear from you.  Its not about people not being worthy of me.  Its about me no longer sitting around wondering why old friends aren't speaking to me.  A child sits around and cries to be taken care of.  An adult goes out and finds the place where he belongs.  For me, right now, thats not here.

I've deleted a handful of my old posts.  I didn't want to take them all down, but there were some I didn't want to leave up forever.  I used to offer my darkest secrets as an offering to the world, somehow believing that if I was open and vulnerable to the universe it would be kinder to me.  Now I know that my heart is precious thing, and what I share of its wealth is up to me.  So I've left up anything I've written that I've felt is helpful to others, but taken down what is just about me.

I'll probably blog again if I find the right community.  It's in my blood now.  Write me a message if you want to know when and if I set up shop again.  That goes for my "old" friends too.  There's no one I am asctively seeking to cut off.  Its just time to start a new chapter -- one where seeking out people who actually like the new me replaces sitting around and wondering why so-and-so never talks to me anymore.

Goodbye, Sickan.  You were a kid's best friend, a comfort in a confusing world.  I'd hold onto you forever if I could, but things pass quickly in this life.  I know you'd want me to keep moving, keep seeking out who I am.

I just saw the new trailer for "The Road" based on Cormac McCarthy's book.  I never judge a movie based on the trailer, but I do have to say I am a little bewildered by the mere idea to make this book into a movie.  Don't get me wrong -- I am a big fan of McCarthy (and was before "The Road" came out).  I am also a big fan of post-apocalypse movies.  So shouldn't this be right up my alley?  Plot-wise, sure.  But McCarthy's least spectacular talents lie in the area of plot formation.  Sure, he's decent in moving the story forward.  But his real genius lies in word-crafting -- particularly descriptions and inner monologues.  These are things that do not translate to the screen well.

The basic plot of the story (parent & child survive disaster, parent loses hope but hangs on long enough to provide a safe future for his child) has been done a million times, both with and without a worldwide apocalyptic twist.  It is not a bad story.  Like the monomyth, its the kind of tale that can be told over and over and still resonate with our souls.  But the plot in itself is simple, and the problem is plot is really the only thing that movies do right.

I'm not knocking cinema.  I love films and feel in some ways they are a lot more relevent to modern society than any recently published book.  But movies hang on sudden plot twists and unexpected reveals.  These are things that work better in movies than in even the best W.W. Jacobs stories.  When it comes to expressing a state of mind, a view of the world, a sense of the future -- movies are very clunky about these things and usually have to resort to visual allegories to get the point across, cliche symbols that would be dismissed as obvious and overused if they were in written form.  Without the author subtly guiding the description to leave clues about a deeper significance, a barren wasteland is just a barren wasteland -- capable of evoking little more than a general sense of despair.  In such instance, a word can be worth a thousand images.

People often say not to worry about movie versions, because the original book still stands beside it.  For authors like Tolkien, whose genius lies in bold, verbose dialogue and stunning plotlines, I agree.  He is too strong a voice to be wiped out by any alternative version.  But I worry for authors like McCormac, whose genius lies in a much more subtle language of mental starkness.  The film will undoubtablyh have no problem precisely recreating the book's simple plot, but in being able to so accurately capture the external and less important aspects of the narrative, it may completely overwrite the story in the minds of the audience, replacing a small heart-wrenching fable with a grand sci-fi extravaganza.

Ever notice how conversations about "how to treat a woman" proceed?

First, a man will say "I treat women with respect."

Another man will pipe in with "Women really want us to lead."

A third man will agree, saying "its our duty to honor a woman by protecting her."

About then, without being asked, a woman will pipe in: "Women don't want you to lead!"

Then another woman will respond "Yes, we do.  We need men's strength and leadership."

Someone else (sometimes a man, sometimes a woman) will try to be diplomatic and make a compromise: "men should protect women, but they can't control women."

So they all grudginly agree that it is chivalrous for a man to protect a woman and honor her by being sensitive to her, but wrong of a man to demand a woman to obey his every whim.  Thus, the solution reached is not one of equality but rather one of temperment: the man can be in charge as long as he is nice about it.

The problem with this conversation is that it treats 50% of the population of the world as if they were of a single mind and demeanor.  It says that roles in a relationship should be determined by supposedly universal decrees rather than looking at what works for each individual relationship.

The very quesiton "what do women want," in fact, dehumanizes women.  Why treat women as some huge single unknowable obselisk?  Why not turn to a woman and ask her "what do YOU want, as an individual?"  Some women will say they want to be an equal.  Others will claim to thrive under the authority of a strong man.  But until it is a question to the individual and not about women as a group, you will never get to know the person you love.

The same thing is true for men.  The statement "this is what men should do" limits and stifles individual strengths and weaknesses.  Why not turn to a man and ask him "what do YOU want, as an individual?"  Some men will say they want to be an equal.  Others will claim to thrive under the authority of a strong woman.  But until it is a question to the individual and not about men as a group, you will never get to know the person you love.

That is the danger and sickness inside chivalry or any other term meant to encapsulate some code of proper conduct between the sexes.  A man who says he honors a woman, but claims that all women at their heart want the same thing, is a sick person.  He is cut off from not only the true individuality of his lover, but of himself because he forces himself into a role based on the role he forces her into.  He does not let the relationship develop naturally.  For some relationships, perhaps even for the majority of them, the truth is similar enough to the "code" that the damage will never be noticed.  But for the millions of men and women whose abilities and desires do not conform to the decrees of "chivalry," it is a crippling illness that will keep them all their lives from discovering who their partner is and who they are themselves.